Realistically, I think that, past one’s early thirties, if you meet someone for whom there is mutual attraction and no major obstacles standing in the way, you should probably latch on, as that is kind of a miracle, and there are such powerful social and economic justifications for doing so.
Yet I admit that John Tottenham’s Antiepithalamia poems resonate with me (I is here http://slake.la/features/antiepithalamium-i). I also love Antiepithalamium V; here are a few lines from it (from Antiepithalamia & Other Poems of Regret and Resentment, p. 19):
I always assume that people I admire are single,
and experience a sinking sensation
when I learn they are not. They drop
in my estimation (for what that’s worth)
from wishful thinking to cold hard earth.
Now they become suspect; their choice seems cold-blooded,
a defect, suggestive of a questionable integrity
and a lack of purity, a defection; they gave up, surrendered
to the obvious, to something they wanted to feel,
in order to justify cutting a deal.
Was it just fear
of being excluded or unwanted,
did you think that you had somehow failed,
that your life was not complete?
It must be a comfort to have somebody special.
A fact, obviously, so relentlessly is it enforced
in story and song, celebrating the apparent sacred truth
that nothing else in the world is as important
as the abiding affection of the one whom one has chosen
to validate one’s existence. As if there was nothing else to sing of.