Gazing at the rain, I consider what it means to belong, to become part of something. To have someone cry for me. From someplace distant, so very distant. From, ultimately, a dream. No matter how far I reach out, no matter how fast I run, I’ll never make it. Why would anyone want to cry for me?
by Dance, Dance, Dance by Haruki Murakami (via cerfs)(Source: aeloquence, via l-i-f-e-g-o-e-s-on)