Dear Tumblr,

Please, please, please stop with those posts. You know the ones I mean. 

Yeah. Those. 

Depending on what you’re reading, I find it highly unlikely that the curtains were just ”fucking blue.”

Granted, I don’t know the story (or poem) you’re referring to, but with several years of upper-division English Lit education under my belt, I feel I’m reasonably qualified to tell you that it’s not that simple. The billboard in The Great Gatsby wasn’t just a fucking billboard. Animal Farm isn’t just a story about some fucking animals.

And, ok, maybethe author didn’t intend the curtains to symbolize depression. Maybe he intended them to represent the protagonist’s latent homosexuality. Maybe they represent the frailty of the American Dream. Maybe they symbolize death. Context is everything.

As long as you can find evidence to back it up, you could argue that those curtains represent all kinds of shit. And each interpretation can affect your experience of reading the work. What’s important is that there is meaning to be found beyond the obvious.

I can only hope that your unwillingness to accept deeper complexities in literature does not reflect how you feel about people, or the world, or life in general. Because there is so, so much more going on under the surface than you apparently believe. 

In conclusion, I encourage you to take a class on literary analysis. 

Thank you.

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