Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters

It’s a sad day today. It really is. And it’s sad in an unbelievable way that I can’t quite understand myself.
It’s not only because J.D. Salinger died, but it’s because it’s almost as if Holden has died too.
Holden Caulfield was, like, the exact replicate of absolutely everybody in the entire world. He was a hypocritical liar who knew he was a hypocrite but lied about knowing it. He hated phonies and people who conformed, yet he was the biggest phony around. And I think he knew this, but instead of admitting it, he chose to complain and obsess over it. Naturally increasing his phoniness.

We're all like that though, really. We all know who we are, deep down inside. We're never really confused; we're just trying to change. I think everybody has to reach that point in their lives eventually when they can finally accept themselves for who they are. And when they do that, they can begin to accept the people around them. You can bend and alter and sugar-coat anything you want, but it's still there underneath all the crap. You know it's there. And you know that you're doing yourself no good at hiding it, but you continue to pile nonsense on top of the truth. Until, of course, everything is unveiled and you're standing there, naked, alone and scared, for perhaps the first time in your life. It's shocking and it's terrifying, but it's life, really.

And that’s what Holden eventually realised, I think, when he was crossing the street and he felt like he was disappearing. That he was falling into something beyond his control.

I don’t know. I’m rambling now. Rest in Peace, J.D. Salinger.
Rest in Peace, Holden Caulfield.