She had died and resuscitated with only his voice


I’m just following the plan that has already been laid out. Continuing to live, alone, in this unreasonable world – where there are two moons in the sky…(..) the only choice I have is to believe that Tengo will return to this playground, and to wait here patiently until he does. I can’t leave – this is the only point of contact between him and me. (IQ84 – Haruki Murakami)

She tasted hell. She tasted heaven. In just a few hours. Love was a weak word. She did not even understand what had happened to her. The love was immense, huge, unbelievable. She knew there was something almost insane about her love. People around her started to live this love too. She was contagious. The pain she had felt inside her muscles and bones slowly spread out around her, reaching her people. Her friends started to panic with her. She spread out her doubts, her questions, her insecurity. Nobody could reason her. Everybody turned out nervous and almost insane like her, by the end of the day. Until she could hear his voice, she could not breath. She had not eaten the whole day. She had not drunk anything else than two coffees early in the morning. She had no appetite. She tried to be normal, walking to downtown, doing some groceries, trying to act normally. Second after second. Minute after minute. She felt more and more uncomfortable. She needed so much to hear his voice. She understood vaguely what people said to her. The cashier asked her three times to pay. She stood there. Looking at something in front of her. It could be anything. Nothing really mattered. She walked out of the store, like a zombie. She felt like she had already died and she was just carrying her body around town. A body with no senses, no reactions. She had lost her mind. At the precise moment. She could cry but nothing came out. She tried to get hold of some friends. Nobody answered. She felt very weak again. She could hear her heart, begging her to let the brain win, for once. Please. The heart begged her for rest, for peace. She could not help but promise.

Until she could hear his voice. His sweet, same old as usual voice. Until she could talk to him. And tell him: where are you ?

Until she could hear his voice. And hear him laugh. During the call, she remembered having said to him: I love you, could you feel it ? Could you feel it?

She lost consciousness for a few seconds after that call. The love was immense, huge, unbelievable. Within a few hours, she had died and resuscitated. With only his voice.

Without your love

“Without your love” – Eriko will never have a romantic relationship with anyone again. She has transcended such things. (IQ84 – Haruki Murakami)

I left IQ84 volume 2 after the two-third of the book. I took it with me for this trip. I started it again on the flight to Oslo. I opened the book and here was the chapter I’d left: Without your love.

Am I like Eriko ? Does the love go beyond limits? Does the romantic thought rise above the normal standard?

I don’t know. I just liked that sentence. Very much.

Certainly it’s a bit me.

Probably the “do not know” state has already something pretty much transcending. As much as I try I had never been able to define my love or relationship with him. Yes, probably I had transcended such things too.



“When I was younger,” she observed, “I loved nothing so much as romances. Nothing could equal my delight when, on some holiday, I could settle down quietly in a corner, and enter with my whole heart and soul into the joys or sorrows of some fictitious Leonora. I do not deny that they even possess some charms for me yet. But I read so seldom that I prefer books suited exactly to my taste. And I like those authors best whose scenes describe my own situation in life,—and the friends who are about me whose stories touch me with interest, from resembling my own homely existence,—which, without being absolutely paradise, is, on the whole, a source of indescribable happiness.” (The Sorrows of Werther – Goethe)

I just finished the third book you’d recommended to me. “Unformed landscape” of Peter Stamm, a Swiss novelist.

I seeked for you through these stories and lines.

I tried to follow your mind and understand why you liked the main character. A woman haunted by lost love and fragile illusions passing across a self-discovery trip.

I tried to feel with your heart and analyze with your brain. Which chapters had moved you most? A suspended ending was not your style, so why did you like it this time? Had you found yourself in it? What did you expect?

We have lost connection – visual, physical connection. You had disapeared on me.

All I have now is an intellectual connection. These books, you and me.

If we met again, I would ask you more.

In the meantime, I remember in “The Sorrows of the young Werther”, Werther wrote a love letter to his beloved. He declared something like:  “I send you this letter just because I can imagine your hands touching the paper”. Tormented, erratic Werther shot himself in his head because of a hopeless love.

Through these books and while reading them, I imagine us, our eyes, our minds coming together somewhere between the chapters.

If only I could touch you once more time through words, paper and ink, I would be more than content.