My cursor hovers on the white blank sheet of your MSN window. That vertical black line – the guiding line that follows any typed text – blinks continuously like a heartbeat, expectant. I’m not expecting much, I know this will never be reciprocal – but if I know this much, why does my heart yearn so? My brain and my heart are no longer in that perfect harmony and balance – each wants the other and I feel spitting mad.
Sometimes opening this window with no text exchanged between us felt like a meagre connection between my world and yours, because at this point in time, this is the closest we’ll ever going to be. A one-way street of broken bottles and arid urine and used condoms – but haven’t we always bent the rules sometimes?
I like delving into Murakami’s world when I read his books. There is always a tinge of madness, non-conforming people, strange scenarios filled with utter lunacy that it seemed natural to be behaving that way. But normalcy has always been a stupid idea wordlessly accepted with the consensus of the society.
Because all of us are capable of acting in the craziest manner possible given the chance. Because normalcy shouldn’t hurt those not in this clique of the majority. Because I need closure, I need to kill those cells in my heart still in love or infatuated or lust over your every being, because I need to draw an abnormally abrupt ending to this happily bitter faint connection of ours, because I need to stop expecting anything.
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» Haruki Murakami - The Wind-up Bird Chronicle