I just read Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami while listening to Max Richter’s album, The Blue Notebooks, which is inflected with excerpts of Franz Kafka’s aphorisms from his Blue Octavo Notebooks.
I’ve never felt this unreal before in my life. My heart seriously feels like it’s going to pound right out of my chest because everything about this experience has been so effortlessly and unspeakably beautiful. I’m still reeling.
“I’ve exhausted the alphabet. But I’m not writing this for you”
why is it so difficult to know when to hold on and when to let go? i could wait until the timing’s right and you’re ready, but will you still want me then? i could hold onto these memories of you and me and the could-have-been’s of every misunderstood glance, wishing, waiting, wanting. but what would that make me?
i don’t want to be that girl, but you’ve already turned me into her. this pathetic cinderella, dreaming in ash-dusted rags, that you would not have ever fallen for. you’ve crossed me into dangerous waters i cannot respect, yet here i am…
so give me a sign.
shall i wait patiently, the passive cinderella, for your readied soul while already holding onto your heart?