“It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.”
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
So you read because so many have done it before you. It is a big read. Heavy. It is most comfortable to sit while reading it. The size doesn't make it, what could be considered - a comfortable read. Bed is out of the question. You rather sit in a big, soft chair, a sofa or your living room couch.
You have heard so much about it that the name gives you goose-bumps but so far you have no personal connection to her. Somehow, you feel the greatness of her image but you yourself haven't met her yet. And so, you do.
And it all goes well, when sweet or sour. You let go and are sucked in.
You see how it demands attention. It is impossible to let go. You give in.
You start wanting it when it's not close and you forget about your life, it is about her now.
And this whirlpool spins and spins, round and round. Like a big, shiny carousel on a hot summer night. Like cotton sugar, ice cream and melted chocolate that sticks to your finger which you then cover with your lips and just let it dissolve into your system. You close your eyes while you do that and celebrate the moment of pure beauty.
And then the train and you freeze but it is not the moment. She somehow ended up taking the train instead. And this is not what you have expected. But then you have no time to think your way out of this confusion when there she is, decision made and her neck so fragile.
The final blow is the moment when she changes her mind. And you follow.
The sudden realization brings her back to consciousness and presents the points of views that were not available before since she is who she is and any other way would be just wrong. And for that her life is taken away from her. By another's decision. Actually.
At the end of the day, it is only a work of fiction.
...that was read by so many.
“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family are unhappy in it's own way.”
Lav Nikolajevič Tolstoj, Ana Karenjina
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