Ryan Gosling Forever

I tell myself I’m happy. I have enough to eat, I live somewhere safe, I have people who care about me. It’s more than a lot of people get. But then I wake up at three in the morning thinking about Ryan Gosling and suddenly none of it matters. Why doesn’t he want me? Why isn’t he here?

I know how insane this sounds. And yet there’s something real about wanting something you absolutely cannot have. The internet has figured this out—there are a thousand ways to pretend that proximity exists. You can buy a shirt with his face on it. You can wear it. You can hold that image close and feel like maybe, somehow, he’s closer to you too.

It’s stupid but it works for about five minutes. You put on the shirt and he’s there on your chest and for a moment you’re not thinking about everything that’s missing from your actual life. You’re just living in this other version where what you want is actually available.

I guess we’re all doing this in some form. Filling gaps with images of impossible people, with merchandise, with the idea of being known by someone who’ll never know we exist. It’s ridiculous and everyone does it anyway because it works just enough to keep you going.