“It’s strange, isn’t it?” the woman said in a pensive voice. “Everything is blowing up around us, but there are still those who care about a broken lock, and others who are dutiful enough to try to fix it. . . . But maybe that’s the way it should be. Maybe working on the little things as dutifully and honestly as we can is how we stay sane when the world is falling apart.”
// a little over a year ago, i was first introduced to Haruki Murakami. he's a japanese writer whose words and short stories are so poetic and unlike most anything i've ever read. he speaks so eloquently about plain and simple things, that it just makes them so beautiful. the other day, i was perusing The New Yorker (ha, that makes me sound like a lame Parisian grown-up) when i came across a short story of his i hadn't read before. It's called Samsa in Love and you can read the full tale here. // enjoy.
“Will I see you again?” Samsa asked one last time.
“If you think of someone enough, you’re sure to meet them again,” she said in parting. This time there was real warmth in her voice.