This line popped in my head yes­ter­day with no con­text what­so­ever. Then I spent the next many hours try­ing to re­mem­ber where I’d read it. The an­swer came just as sud­denly. This line is from the book “Hear the Wind Sing” by Haruki Murakami.

I love how it evokes a sense of deep long­ing for the past. In many ways, I think this line is the essence of the en­tire novel. Time erodes away the hum­drum re­al­ity from mem­o­ries and leaves you with frag­ments of faded im­ages. Nostalgia colors every­thing in warm hues of the sun­set. When you re­visit these flimsy translu­cent im­ages, you yearn to be in them. A sweet ache; a dull crav­ing to ex­ist in that dis­torted uni­verse. The prospects of dis­ap­pear­ing into the fog of past, where noth­ing ever sur­prises.

The novel is beau­ti­ful in it’s en­tirety. I find my­self reread­ing it dur­ing sunny af­ter­noons as the tea is boil­ing and the laun­dry has been done.