they are dead and they are gone

I have become very fond of my blazers. It seems that they go with about everything. Albeit I'm not quite sure how they would look with my Nike Air Max. Yeah, that would probably not work. I have also become very fond of using this belt of mine. I am also very fond of my bed. If I were to choose, I'd lie in it all day, listening to music and daydreaming. That would be wonderful. God, I don't know why I am so attracted to glum things. I just finished reading another "Narry" fanfiction, and it was one of those abstract ones, where you think you understand, but then again, you don't. I'll never be able to understand it fully, no one can, but the author themselves. Which is another thing that has been on my mind quite a few times before. When you are at school, and the teacher asks you to analyze a text, you do as the teacher says. You try to read behind the lines, trying to understand the author. But the thing is, that all the students will most likely have different perspectives. And that's understandable, because of perception. "Perception (from the Latin perceptio, percipio) is the organization, identification and interpretation of sensory information in order to represent and understand the environment". People experience different things, and therefore it's only natural for peoples perception to be different. And so when the teacher supposedly reveal the answer, I find myself thinking "but how are they supposed to know what the author was thinking whilst writing?". Sure, you can dig up a lot of information from an authors private life. At least you could do that before. But does that mean that you'll know the answer for sure? Surely you can't know. Unless you're a mind reader, that is. I've linked to the Narry fanfiction, if you did want to read it. I'm guessing someone might click the link, read the first sentence, and then cross out the tab. And I can see why. I would probably do too, but I was yearning for something a bit abstract to read. So there I was, sitting in my bed with a pillow clutched to my chest, reading the fiction out loud in my best British accent. My voice was horse, and it didn't get any better as my eyes clouded and the hot tears started rolling down my newly showered face. I think it's beautiful, a masterpiece really. A gem I want to share with everyone. God, I really need to find a Narry-buddy. Or maybe get a life. Or just stay in bed forever.