21 years

When I was 21, the future was just a fleeting glimmer,

Now, nearing 30, I roam the streets of the night,

I look in the mirror at the emptiness in my face,

A lost gaze, without hope.

I think to myself: "How the hell did I end up here?"

And I ask, without answer, why.

It's sad, but it's the reality we can't escape,

My life already seems to have ended,

Nothing to do, nothing to say,

Until the man of my dreams appears,

And takes me with him, in a hollow gesture of redemption.

With a mediocre job, no prospects,

Every thought a stab in the chest,

Because all I want is a little true love,

Instead of empty nights, searching for meaning,

I wonder how I got to this point,

And the answer is written on the dirty walls of any alley.

It's sad, but it's the story life insists on telling,

A never-ending tragedy, a spectacle of disillusion,

Until the lover of my dreams appears,

I wait, although I know it's in vain these days.