Over coffee we talked for a whole hour—talked about all kinds of things:music, her school, just everything.

We could face each other over coffee cups in total silence.

Special hardback edition of After Dark

(via murakamistuff)

What a terrible thing it is to wound someone you really care for and to do it so unconsciously.

Happy Birthday, Haruki Murakami.

In his or her own way, everyone I saw before me looked happy. Whether they were really happy or just looked it, I couldn’t tell. But they did look happy on this pleasant early afternoon in late September, and because of that I felt a kind of loneliness new to me, as if I were the only one here who was not truly part of the scene.