What's wrong if there happens to be one person in the world who enjoys trying to understand you?

"No mistake about it. Ice is cold; roses are red; I'm in love. And this love is about to carry me off somewhere. The current's too overpowering; I don't have any choice. It may very well be a special place, some place I've never seen before. Danger may be lurking there, something that may end up wounding me deeply, fatally. I might end up losing everything. But there's no turning back. I can only go with the flow. Even if it means I'll be burned up, gone forever." — Haruki Murakami

She can't actually decide which of the lines caught her heart. All she knows is that each time they talk, he breaks down one brick from the walls she built up around her. Just one brick at a time. Slowly but surely. That's how strong his words are.

And she wonders where does his confidence come from. There is no trace of fear. He was boldly uttering his deepest feelings. Could it be that love truly conquers all?

...until finally, at last... it was verbalized. [8.30.11-01.45]

...Bleeding hearts will only cry out for more...

“A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose. It would be horribly selfish if it wanted all the other flowers in the garden to be both red and roses.”

"Why kid ourselves, people have nothing to say to one another... they all talk about their own troubles and nothing else. Each man for himself, the earth for us all. They try to unload their unhappiness on someone else...

...and in between they boast that they've succeeded in getting rid of their unhappiness, but everyone knows it's not true and they've simply kept it all to themselves. Since at the little game you get uglier and more repulsive as you grow older, you can't hope to hide your unhappiness, your bankruptcy, any longer. In the end your features are marked with that hideous grimace that takes twenty, thirty years or more to climb frm your belly to your face. That's all a man is good for, that and no more, a grimace that he takes a whole lifetime to compose. The grimace a man would need to express his true soul without losing any of it is so heavy and complicated that he doesn't always succeed in completing it."