Last night I had the weirdest dream.
I was in Tokyo, inside a train during a train stop. It was one of those olden train stations in Japan where the rails and wall paint lacked the luster of industrialization. In the train I was sitting beside my friend, we were both silent.
Odd thing is, I knew I was in Tokyo by judging how the train station looked like absent tell-tale signs where I was. Another thing is, the color-quality of my dream had the same feel of how I imagine Haruki Murakami novels.
Dreams can be odd like that eh?
I realized that I was not sad for losing the 2 years we had rather I was sad because of the 2 years of missed chances with other people, of wasted time with you.
But then looking at the pictures of people comparing their lives today and two years ago, I would not have wanted to be a part of their present anyway.
Grief makes you think of odd things.