**Diary Entry – October 12th**
My friend Elizabeth is fifty-five. She’ll retire in a couple of years, yet she still holds onto hope that she’ll meet a man to share the rest of her life with—love, harmony, all of it. She believes in miracles. I don’t. Not because I’m cruel or bitter, but because life has taught me to see things clearly.
Yes, a man past fifty can be found. But what kind? More often than not, he’s someone worn out by life, searching not for love but for comfort. He doesn’t want a woman to walk hand-in-hand with along Brighton beach—he wants someone who’ll cook on time, do the laundry, scrub the floors, and not disturb his telly time. Preferably with separate bedrooms. Preferably without too many questions. Preferably without demands.
I’m convinced most men past fifty aren’t looking for a woman to love—just one who’ll make their lives easier. Women our age, though? We still hope for a kindred spirit. We dream of real partnership—care, support, shared interests. We want to talk, to feel, to share. But men don’t want that anymore. They’ve moved on to other priorities.
Elizabeth doesn’t see it. She’s romantic, convinced that if she waits just a little longer, *the one* will appear. She goes on dates—puts on her best dress, her new perfume. And what does she get? Men who first ask, *“Can you cook well?”*, *“Any health problems?”*, *“Do you own your flat or rent?”* No one asks how her day was. No one listens to what’s in her heart.
Every time, she comes home devastated.
Nearly every man she’s met has wanted one thing—someone to handle the chores. Someone to make life convenient. But Elizabeth dreams of more—traveling, late-night chats, sharing tea and laughter. She wants support. Understanding. Just someone to hold her and say, *“You’re not alone.”*
Watching it breaks my heart, because I know how it ends. Best case—another disappointment. Worst case—losing faith in herself entirely.
I’m not saying love after fifty doesn’t exist. Maybe it does. But I’ve never seen it end happily. Maybe there are couples out there who made it work. Maybe some get lucky. Not in my circle, though.
We women are different. Even at this age, we want warmth, connection, attention. They want convenience. And that’s not a complaint—just the truth. We walk through life with open hearts. They bring a spreadsheet.
Can you start fresh at this age? Probably. But don’t expect miracles. If you’re happy being someone’s housekeeper, you might get lucky. But if you want real love? I don’t know. Better to focus on yourself—your hobbies, your grandchildren if you have them, books, trips. Live for *you*. Don’t wait. Don’t pin your hopes on it. Don’t depend on it.
And if love does come? Let it be a pleasant surprise—not the goal.