You can always move on past the point that you cannot go back — that is what we wall do no matter what. That is how it has always worked: entropy moves in one direction. You lust for the younger while you move ever onward toward death.
Keep moving.
You cannot keep yourself together in this way. You cannot scrape together the points that want you here. You cannot create if you do not first destroy. All the old garbage must be taken out; space must be made for the new if you are ever to squeeze together all the things you want into one lifetime.
Lifetime. Life-time. Life and time. Time keeps moving, relentlessly. It runs us all over in the end, we are all its roadkill. We are all its smashed and broken children. Even the works and influence we leave behind are erased — they either disintegrate if they are physical, or dissipate through time if they are in the form of influence and change. Change continues, the winding down of the great cosmic machine continues.
Whether it’s all for nothing is not your concern. You did not build it and will not be around for its heat-death. You are a spider spinning its web, hoping for something to eat. Just do your dance and take what you can get. The rest will sort itself out.