Fictional characters do exist, not in our world of course, we’d be screwed if that ever happened. But in the world of our minds, they are the main population there. They bring colour and life to it, they are the little voices in your head telling you not to do something because it’ll end up bad.
People who don’t read and scoff at people who like reading, they will never have that. Their minds will be grey and boring, they’ll never know the pleasure and pain that it is to love someone so much, even though you can’t physically touch them.
So if anyone ever laughs at you for reading and being imaginative, pity them. Because they will grow old and boring, their lives will be sad and plain while yours will be full of the adventures you shared with the fictional characters in the books you love.
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.
i am perfectly fine with having other people sit on my lap but i can’t sit on other people’s laps because i’m always paranoid that i’d crush them and they’d diE