Errant Gosling's Page

We’re dancing. The world spins around me, blurred. I’m happy again. Genuinely happy, or at least convincingly. And to a degree I no longer reach in sober life. I’m smiling and flirting. Whispering heartfelt falsehoods in the ears of loved ones, and ones less so. But I care. I honestly care. This I’ll remember even when all of my other pretenses are revealed. I making friends, pining after lovers, and painting myself a fool. Or worse.



What fun we have.



And what pain.… Continue

Around me are soft words and candle lights. I'm out of pitch; a reluctant bass in a sea of carefree sopranos. Only women are singing, and only some of them. I can't find the key. But I'm not tone deaf. I can hear exactly how far off I am. I'm just not talented enough to find good harmony. It's the story of my life. It's also one more reason I've never found comfort within these walls.



Everywhere people are worshiping. I just sing along. The hundreds seem to know each other. They… Continue

Questions. Always you’ve had questions. Your curiosity was part of what attracted me in the very beginning. I loved it. I still do. But I have a funny way of showing it. Rather than indulge in answers, I torture you by my refusals. I don’t mean to. I just get frustrated by my inability to respond, and you’re a much easier target for my irritation. Despicable, I know. But you give as well as you get.



Tonight won’t be any better, I fear. I’m too tired. You know that. And I know you’re… Continue

I’ve returned from my travels confused and exhausted. My confusion is emotional; caused by reunions of soul and body about which more will be written later. My exhaustion, however, results merely from having dived too deeply into the sea of humanity, with too few gulps of air in between. Only now in solitude am I beginning to catch my breath.



I’ve never been a good swimmer. Crowds especially are draining for me. In my mind’s eye, everyone is an adversary. All intend to take advantage… Continue

Hold me now, for a while. These first few moments, just after, are the living by which we measure the rest of our lives. We both know it won’t last. I’m more delicate than I look, and you’re crueler than you pretend to be. We’re each too damaged to make a working pair; a torn kite kept aloft only as long as the winds remain savage.



Sure, we’ll try. Honestly, we’ll try. We tend to each other’s wounds. We’ll nurse each other back to near-health. Our pasts will fade. We’re not like all… Continue