At 30

At 30, you feel that everything has slipped away, that your loves and dreams are meaningless in an imperfect world, held by a feeble and even treacherous memory, you are keenly aware of your mortality, the futility of human life and any endeavour to make meaning out of it, and you absolve, and leave the loving and dreaming to the young ones, to be disillusioned like yourself sooner or later.