It's that time of year again; January spells self doubt

So another year closer to middle age and still no mate. Sure, there's a girl who gave my heart a fluttering and my heart is hers, but she doesn't want it. I search the strange pages of phrases and flesh, knowing I'll never find another you. I think I want to get away again. I think I want to be on wanted posters, at least then there'd be a reward. Perhaps I'll drift endlessly and die alone.