The moment it dawns on you that you’re finished. That you were finished a long time ago, years and years ago, but you couldn’t see it. You wouldn’t. You refused to. And now here is this delicate moment you finally recognize the void in you has grown. The pleasures of life are no longer yours for the taking. And your loss isn’t even deep enough to be tragic.
I feel this way at times about the passionate things in life, I worry that my time has passed, and it makes me moody sometimes. I know that I can’t tell the future so I isuslly only think this when I’m moody.