...and the smaller you are when you scar, the bigger it gets as you age.

 “Seven-thirty on Sunday morning: a time when everything sounds soft and hollow. I listened to the pigeons shuffling across my apartment roof, to someone calling a dog in the distance. Kumiko stared at a single spot on the ceiling for the longest time.

“Tell me,” she said at last, “do you like cats?”

“Crazy about them,” I said. “Always had one when I was a kid. I played with it constantly, even slept with it.”

“Lucky you. I was dying to have a cat. But they wouldn’t let me. My mother hated them. Not once in my life have I managed to get something I really wanted. Not once. Can you believe it? You can’t understand what it’s like to live like that. When you get used to that kind of life –of never having anything you want –then you stop knowing what it is you want.”

Haruki Murakami “The Wind-up Bird Chronicle” (p73)

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