At 47, I never imagined I’d still be single, navigating life on my own. I always believed in the fairytales—meeting someone who would sweep me off my feet, sharing a life full of love and partnership. But here I am, standing in my quiet apartment on a Friday night, staring out the window, wondering how I ended up alone.

Over the years, I’ve dated, hoped, and put myself out there, believing each time that maybe, just maybe, this one would be different. But somehow, true love always seemed to slip through my fingers. I used to think I had all the time in the world to find someone who would cherish me, but as time passed, I started to feel like love was becoming more elusive.

My friends often tell me I’m too picky, that I expect too much, but I don’t think that’s the problem. I’m not searching for perfection, just someone who genuinely understands me, who wants to build a life together. It feels like every time I open my heart, I’m met with disappointment—whether it’s ghosting, shallow connections, or men who aren’t ready for what I want.

I look around and see friends happily married, some even on their second or third marriages, and I wonder why it’s been so difficult for me. Is there something wrong with me? Have I missed my chance? I never thought I’d be asking myself these questions at this age. I thought I’d be settled by now, maybe even building a life with someone who loved me deeply.

Instead, I find myself waking up to an empty bed, my dreams of a loving relationship feeling more distant than ever. It shocks me sometimes, the reality of it all. I never pictured myself still searching for love at 47. Yet here I am, waiting, hoping that maybe someday, I’ll meet someone who makes the wait worth it.