“Letters are just pieces of paper, … Burn them, and what stays in your heart will stay; keep them, and what vanishes will vanish,”
~Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
I’m sitting in a beer garden just about to start my second Kellarbier. It was a beautiful, warm summer day; now the wind has shifted and a gray cloud is hanging in the northern sky. I’m watching the trees that surround the park, keeping an eye out for the silver undersides of leaves that mean rain is coming. But I don’t know if these are the right kinds of trees for that old trick.
I just finished reading “Norwegian Wood.” It’s been a book I’ve picked up a hundred times, and on Monday, I finally broke down and bought it. Books are more important than food sometimes. I sat on my balcony on Monday afternoon; and drank in the first half with my wine.
~I had to stop there as the sky opened up and drenched the garden. I sat under my umbrella (under the already-in-place garden umbrella), until it was time to move on. So I’m continuing from the bar with slightly better umbrellas.
The book was beautiful and I will re-read it many times I’m sure. There was more than one time when I found myself reaching for my highlighter. However, it’s not a great book for my current state in some ways.
I like the passage about letters. Many times I’ve wondered how thing would be different in this ex-pat life if more people wrote letters. It seems like some connections would be long-lost and some would be so much stronger. But it wouldn’t be the same.
I also feel that this passage sums up so much of what I’ve felt in recent weeks. I find myself wishing that I had written down more of what happened or what was said in the last year. But when it comes to it; what good would it do? All day, every day , we say things. But what is true and what isn’t? You can know one thing for sure one day, but feel something completely different the next. We are fickle, fickle beings. That’s all it is.
“What stays in your heart will stay.”
I will remember what happened. I will remember the looks, the laughs, the touches. I know that what was there was real. If he wants to deny that, he can go ahead. He has his own reasons, and it’s not up to me to solve them. I know what we had, and I can see what could be; but that door is closed.
Now, I live for myself again.
I was willing to forgo things, I was willing to go with what he wanted, and now I know better. Well, maybe not better, but differently. I would have done anything he wanted, if it would have made things easier. I would have let things go, let things slide, for his sake. I would have done anything I could to make his life better. I know what I saw, and I would have tried to fill the gaps as well as I could… but that’s not what he wanted. And then that’s not the life I wanted. Maybe if we hadn’t walked on eggshells for the last year, we both would have realized that.