In between ceramic tiles, I empathize with Murakami’s characters (disjointed, numb). I’m reminded of how disconnected I’d once felt, as if this was myself but somehow it wasn’t. I tossed and turned, ran through storms, writhed in bed. Wondered: and so how did she, this other self, feel? Because I felt nothing.

Between shallow breaths I remind myself to scale down. So I scale down. In a giant desert, I am box-like. I am a face of a salt crystal on a pink salt mountain. And collectively we are all salt grains tumbling through something vast and strange and inexplicable.


4 thoughts on “Disjointed

  1. Michael Raqim Mira August 5, 2016 / 9:52 am

    “In a giant desert, I am box-like.”
    I replay those words in my head
    as I trace her perimeter
    –the sharp edges that etch
    palm lines into my hand,
    rerouting my fate to converge
    with hers.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Lu August 5, 2016 / 9:14 pm

      Ah your writing is so beautiful :,) love your blog!


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