“I’m in love with you, and that’s what’s important. I think you understand that.” Like someone rising to the surface of the sea from deep below, she takes a deep breath. She searches for the words to say, but they lie beyond her grasp. “I’m sorry, Kafka, but would you mind leaving? I’d like to be alone for a while,” she says. “And close the door on your way out.” I nod, stand up, and start to go, but something pulls me back. I stop at the door, turn around, and walk across the room to where she is. I reach out and touch her hair. Through the strands my hand brushes her small ear. I just can’t help it. Miss Saeki looks up, surprised, and after a moment’s hesitation lays her hand on mine. “At any rate, you–and your theory–are throwing a stone at a target that’s very far away. Do you understand that?” I nod. “I know. But metaphors can reduce the distance.” “We’re not metaphors.” “I know,” I say. “But metaphors help eliminate what separates you and me.” A faint smile comes to her as she looks up at me. “That’s the oddest pickup line I’ve ever heard.” “There’re a lot of odd things going on–but I feel like I’m slowly getting closer to the truth.” “Actually getting closer to a metaphorical truth? Or metaphorically getting closer to an actual truth? Or maybe they supplement each other?” “Either way, I don’t think I can stand the sadness I feel right now,” I tell her. “I feel the same way.”—Kafka On The Shore, Haruki Murakami
I find the way this boy speaks very similar to the way I speak. Abstract. Especially the retorts peppered with “I know”.
HT: Krishnapriya, who also shared a handwritten note.