The summer I was 19, I spent a lot of time wandering around the public gardens of Paris (where I was doing a study abroad), compulsively listening to the Smiths on what must have been a clunky old Discman. It was the first time in my life, perhaps, that I truly felt seen and heard, as well as deeply understood. The lyrics that Morrissey (our clever postcard model, here) was singing felt as though they had been lifted directly from my own solemn and lonely thoughts. Would I ever find true companionship, either in a friend or in a lover? Probably not, was Morrissey’s verdict, but at least I could pass the remainder of my tiresome existence feeling authentically known by this most archly pessimistic of pop stars. I could look at the roses, or sit by myself in one of those tiny metal chairs the public gardens of Paris are famous for, and feel a romantic satisfaction in my aloneness. Because at least that aloneness was mine, and not contorted into some absurdly phony show of socialization, had I insisted on consorting with my loud and loutish study abroad peers. Sometimes, spending time with your contemporaries just isn’t where it’s at, and in fact can make a lonely soul feel even more alone. And so it goes, I believe, with that odious concept known as positivity. Better to find a willing and mutual accompaniment for your shit attitude, whether that’s in roses or pop music, than to make yourself sick trying to be somebody you’re not. There will always be a lover waiting to hold you in your negativity or your mental illness, as long as you are open to finding it in whatever environment has been so kind to surround you… wherever you are. ❤️‍🔥—Y.B.D.