I really like this question. If I could have written any book, it probably would be Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. There are (not many) books that I like more, but I don’t know if there’s another book that was so good at depicting the futility of unrequited love, the disappointment of dreams fulfilled, the emptiness of depression, the soothing relief of a woman’s arms — it locked in to a very specific section of my soul. It locked in to a section of my soul that I protect with vigor due to its vulnerability. Wanting, needing, having, and losing all rolled up into the uncertainty and arrogance of young adulthood.

Fuck you want?

  1. godmelodic posted this