Your life is not an episode of Skins. Things
will never look quite as good as they do in a faded, sun-drenched
Polaroid; your days are not an editorial from Lula. Your life is not a
Sofia Coppola movie, or a Chuck Palahniuk novel, or a Charles Bukowski
poem. Grace Coddington isn’t your creative director. Bon Iver and Joy
Division don’t play softly in the background at appropriate moments. Your
hysterical teenage diary isn’t a work of art. Your room probably isn’t
Selby material. Your life isn’t a Tumblr screencap. Every word that
comes out of your mouth will not be beautiful and poignant, infinitely
quotable. Your pain will not be pretty. Crying till you vomit is always
shit. You cannot romanticize hurt. Or sadness. Or loneliness. You will
have homework, and hangovers and bad hair days. The train being late
won’t lead to any fateful encounters, it will make you late. Sometimes
your work will suck. Sometimes you will suck. Far too often, everything
will suck - and not in a Wes Anderson kind of way. And there is no
divine consolation - only the knowledge that we will hopefully
experience the full spectrum - and that sometimes, just sometimes, life
will feel like a Coppola film.
- Unknown
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