Since a couple of days, the weather really suits autumn; storm, lots of rain. Outside it’s dark and grey with streets covered in the yellowbrownorange sea of colored leaves. I’m lying in my bed and look out of the window; the branches of this pine tree are waving and a few minutes ago a little bird was hopping through the tree, perhaps looking for a shelter.
I read some pages of the book “South of the border, west of the sun” by Haruki Murakami. A book I’ve read before, like all the works of Murakami, but it has been a while and this is the perfect situation for reading his books.
“But I didn’t understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly she would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair’.
(random quote from what I read today)
Last week, I found out that one friend had died. I remember the phonecall. Remember how I shaked for two hours. All the other things, that happened. A week has passed now, and what has changed and what has happened more? After the funeral, I went home again and that’s where I still am. I rarely left the house, just for groceries actually. Yesterdaymorning and this morning I went out for a walk through the stormy weather and the rain. No one around, everyone seems to want to stay inside – perfect. I’m happy that I have a good jacket for circumstances like this.
Last few days I also talked a lot with i-love-very-much-far-away-friend. I still cannot believe the impact she has and had on me. That –even if it seems far away and almost invisible right now, because it’s too long and too far away from me- I felt happiness. After a long time of emptiness. It is still hard to understand, but I’m happy she is part of the world. And now? I’m sitting here in the eye of a storm. Trapped. Inside a tornado, and you have no idea where it goes and you can’t step out of it. You can see the dreams flying around you, but they fly too far and high and fast to grasp. How do you know what the moment is to step into this tornado? I live, in the eye of a storm. Sitting and waiting, seeing and observing, but never going on the ride ittself. That is what is wrong with me. Waiting for movement, but I need to make the movement myself.