A friend gave me my birthday present today, a Murakami, one of her favourites. On one of the first few pages she wrote something I think no girl has told me before. She wrote that she'd like to be my friend for life. Three thoughts swam through my head as I took a late night toilet read (One of my most treasured things to do; I feel elevated as an individual when the world and its concerns retreat into peaceful slumber).
A fuzzy 'Aww' almost escaped from my lips, arising from her sincerity and the note's purity. Then I smiled in relief at something I haven't done in a while (if ever?): maintain a successfully platonic female relationship. The third was the most reassuring: that this friendship -- which I treasure most for its retreat-from-trashy-world signature -- will indeed last because we never courted the inevitably doomed nature of contrived romance. A perfect present (Murakami short stories for my limited attention span), a perfect note.
It's 4 a.m.. I like to extend my day up to the point when I'm absolutely exhausted, like now. Then I crash, like a wound-up watch that has run out of power. It feels like a natural thing to do somehow, if I ignore the health implications. I'm feeling like that powering-down clock now, party-trashed (but from a good kind of party) and hungry, yet still very alive -- mostly emotionally. Tonight I'm up and happily contemplative because of Murakami's easy-going, thought-provoking, random style; to a larger extent because of said birthday note; but mostly because tomorrow holds promise, and it's been a while. :)
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1 comment:
i would like to, as well.
glad you've found your happiness clar (: hope to see you sometime again.
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