http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2012/10/cold-pastoral-by-marina-keegan.html

and you want to write something so beautifully poignant, to sketch a life drawing of emotion so realistic that the words are screaming from the page, for them to be able to be the last thing someone thinks of before they sleep at night.

occasionally i get jealous of those people who have lived the college dream. the people who spent four years on campus discovering themselves, discovering other people, forging friendships that promise to last a lifetime. hookups, breakups, that bittersweet romance that tastes like chocolate and tequila that ends with the impact of a car crash after dark.

but then there are days like this where we're all just sitting around listening to acoustic covers in the living room, the buzz of us hammering away at our laptops mingling with each others' in sync, in symphony, and i realise that i didn't need that, won't ever need that. i have so many years ahead of me to figure out who i am and where i'm going, and this strange sense of feeling lost doesn't seem so bad.