The curious case of it all. (Eric Roth the author, not Fitzgerald. I know!)

Loitering in the stratosphere, a wanton undependable or steadfast descent toward a solid footing I can barely tell...an unsettled toppling of preconceptions, a shift in the course from the blue I know not how nor why and in the fall I ponder. Compartmentalizing time, now for unplanned leisure, peeling back a layer of crusted protection and then for...I narrowly escape the plan I made, the confused construction of story to share by a whisper in my ear gently blowing the words "it's alright, now you can breathe" whatever the course of the other. The playing field is levelling but I am still a propertyless wretch scoring a home goal not to win any game. The spectator of repositioning. My journey is all I now have to share and in another rotation perhaps that tale too will turn to dust as daily the story is throwing up new truths once ardently sealed, perhaps to consolidation. Calmly unexpected expectance found untrustingly, gently pulling me to ground, a burial of birth anew shone upon, watered and ready to flourish then wither then live as the seasoned defenceless warrior comes to tend to wounds at last ready to heal. A hand upon my heart and all is well.

"Everything I know, I know because of love." Tolstoy.