Sometimes you read a good novel, and when you turn that last page you feel like you’re completely empty and utterly full. Your heart seems to be bursting at the seams, all its stuffing exploding through ventricles and bone marrows, through cavities and lungs. People you’ve never met and thoughts you’ve never had run circles round your brain like a carousel. Stamped firmly down on the white envelope of memory is streets you’ve never walked along, houses you’ve never called home and pets you’ve never held tight in a thunderstorm. You’ve become another person, you’ve lived another life, you’ve dreamt another dream and you’re all the more consumed for it. You have no room left in you for yourself. You have been swallowed by the imagination of the artist.
But then there are the times when your heart thumps like a time bomb, as the number of words you have left trickle down like sands in an hourglass. You know the story’s ending, you know that you’re going to have to say goodbye. It might not be forever, and you know that no one is going to stop you coming by and saying hello every so often, but people will always judge you for not living new lives, and besides—it won’t be quite as great as the first time. His eyes won’t be so dark, her hair won’t be so feathery and the night sky won’t swallow up the horizon quite so completely. You finish caressing the last word and suddenly, you know that moment of your life is over. You know you’ll never breathe that world again, and you are all the more hollow for it; you are empty and full all at once. You are the sun and the moon, man and woman, night and day, and you’re all of life, all at once.Posted 1 year ago with 45 notes
Tagged with #prose#spilled ink#spilledinkprose#I just finished reading Kafka on the Shore. It was one of the most beautiful books I have ever read#I am so glad I read it. But I hate that it ended.#Goodbye Kafka. Oshima. Saeki. Nakata.