It’s simple to have sex. People do it regularly. In cars, in apartments, back alleys, drunk, sober, high, it’s easy to just take your clothes off and have sex with the person standing next to you. Making love however, is more than that. It’s opening yourself up to someone. It’s standing in front of them, as they peel away all your layers and you’re asking them if they’ll have you and keep you safe. Think of yourself as an envelope, you’re sealed most the time, so whose important enough to read the letter inside? Because that letter is full of your thoughts, fears and dreams. That’s what being naked really is. That’s what it feels like to be exposed. Don’t just give that away. Wait for the person whose going to read that letter, and never want to stop reading it.

You’re going to lose weight, and buy a closet full of new clothes, and whiten your teeth, and cut your hair, and move to a great apartment in a different city, and make new cooler friends. And you’re still going to be unhappy.

Fall in love when you are ready, not when you’re lonely.

You’ll meet her, she’s very pretty, even though sometimes she’s sad for many days at a time. You’ll see, when she smiles, you’ll love her.

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.

It hurts when you have someone in your heart, but can’t have them in your arms.

The worst feeling is feeling unwanted by the person you want the most.