For a long time, I've held the saccharine-sweet disneyrific idea that perhaps somewhere out there in the big wide nowhere, someone is looking for me like I'm looking for them. The older I get, the harder this is to believe. Fairy tales and superhero stories made me believe in fate when common sense would seemingly point elsewhere. It seems less and less likely that there really is a perfect mate in the world for each and every person. Facts show us that shitloads of people die alone and miserable everyday. Probability tells me that the older and weirder I get, the harder it is to find anyone that matches me. This knowing is a nagging pain. It will only be a matter of time before that becomes a familiar pain that is folded simply into the daily routine. Perhaps this is what aging is.