Adolescent again…

how can I bear it?

It appears as though I am experiencing a newfound adolescence… one that goes by the name of old age. Much like in those bygone days, I sense the metamorphosis of my body and the encroachment of somber rumination within my mind. Six decades ago, new shoes swiftly grew constricting, while the sleeves of my sweaters progressively shortened with each passing month. My very voice underwent a transformation, such that, when I spoke, it seemed as if I were listening to someone else. Ominous or peculiar thoughts would seize me, eluding my comprehension and defying my attempts at order. I became unrecognizable to myself. I longed to play like an innocent child with toy soldiers, to soar upon swings or revel in the enchantment of carousels. Alas, I had outgrown such pursuits; I was summarily dismissed, for it appeared unsuitable to partake, and discomfort plagued me wherever I turned.

Presently, I find myself beset by akin sensations. I keenly perceive the rapid metamorphosis of my corporeal vessel, after years of languid change that had scarcely impacted my existence. Much like that overgrown child who could no longer mount the swing or endured ridicule for indulging in the playthings of yesteryear, I yearn to run, to ski, to engage in athletic endeavors, and to immerse my days in the rigors of professional pursuits, just as I did a mere few years ago.

I still yearn to seize opportunities, to embark on impromptu journeys.

However, I am now compelled to meticulously plan every endeavor, to deliberate at length, for each endeavor exacts an increasingly tolling toll upon my being, necessitating the careful rationing of my dwindling reservoirs of energy.

At times, a sense of embarrassment pervades me, as I find myself desiring things deemed inappropriate for one of my age, both in terms of physicality and societal expectations. The timidity that once characterized my interactions with girls has returned. In those days of yore, I felt too diminutive and unattractive to assert myself; today, I grapple with the dual affliction of feeling too aged and lascivious. And if during my youth I ardently yearned for that inaugural experience, today I confront the same indeterminate uncertainty, apprehensive that the final chapter may have already been penned.

I am acutely aware of the absurdity that accompanies my pretense of retaining the strength of yore, of vehemently disavowing the passage of time, and of attempting to project an illusion of youthfulness. My every endeavor is now focused on the futile quest to arrest the relentless march of time, to cling desperately to the vestiges of an age I am inexorably relinquishing. This poignant reminiscence evokes the essence of my thirteenth year, as the carefree innocence of childhood rapidly gave way to the relentless pangs of regret.

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