prose
In our respecvtive roles, we got along relatively well. Yet no sooner had we thought we’d reached a lasting arrangement than something crumbled. The tinyiest hint of something, but it was never to be recovered. We’d been walking down a long blind alley. That was our end.
To her, I was already lost. Even if she still loved me, it didn’t matter. We’d gotten too used to each other’s role. She understood it instinctively; I knew it from experience. There was no hope.
Haruki Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase
Comments
Tim, Feb 8, 02:53 AM:
Whoa, haven’t read that one in a long time. great book. Have you read David Mitchell? What did you think of “Kafka on the Shore”?commenting closed for this article
