The ravaging of Time

It's coming on fast, I can feel it. This adulthood is steadily racing towards me. Towards all of us. The end of eras are approaching, and it's terrifying, but also exhilirating. Everything is changing, slowly, but soon we'll be standing in a completely different place and thinking "when did this happen?". It will just creep up, rotating slowly, so slowly that we'll hardly notice at all. The only indications we'll glean of such change will be the vivid instances that command our focus. Marriages and relocations and children and career opportunities (real ones). And for a moment we'll hesitate in awe of how our worlds are changing, evolving, and maturing. Then the moment will fade and we'll fall back softly into oblivion, with our lives and the Time continuously moving and changing around us. Again, we'll be none the wiser. Until one day we once more stop and realize how things have changed, moved on around us. We'll note the evolution of life just for a moment, before falling again into ignorance.
In that moment, will I stand alone?
While everyone moves and settles down into their comfortable existences and finds someone to share this comfort with, will I remain, a lone entity in a companionate world? I can sorowfully forsee this in my mind's eye, altough I do not wish it. I can see it as if it were tragically destined. Alone in a wasteland of memories, experiences, aspirations, and my faded hopes and dreams. Perhaps. A vision of myself-calm and forlorn (perhaps defeated), eyes sagging with sadness. With the weight of pity and a thousand lost dreams. Of so many radiant and sorrowful years gone by, and coming out of them alone. Lines like pathways of the past creasing my face, displaying memories of an almost full and happy existence. Leading spectators down the roads of my life, to where they have deposited me now. A map on my face, a memoir on my tongue, and sadness in my eyes. Perhaps I will bear it stoicly, this alone-ness, proudly and with contentment. Perhaps I will appear a statue, independent, strong, but withered and faded with age. Softened and quieted. Perhaps if you were to gaze into those eyes, you would see a deep but contented sorrow that comes from good things lost and faded away in time. And perhaps you would find me lonely. Perhaps I would be.