i stopped reading haruki murakami because the last book i read entitled colorless tsukuru tazaki, was sort of trash. it gives you a sort of feeling that life is cruel but you have to think that it's not always like that, which i hate about. but that's not the thing because the story i want to tell you is about Aria.
Aria was a sweet, sweet girl whose mind was always wondered and full with curiousness. she loved asking question about the stars and universe and the creator and human emotions and religion and things that a normal human being would probably jump over that sort of questions. every. religious. person. would.
maybe i'd skip to the part to where she fell in love and all of her wonderfulness had been suck out of her with the person who entered her life and had ignored her that she was left devastated and died alone.
poor Aria. it's just a matter of time when love is nothing but an empty pool of burned up hard-floor it dries up anything that goes into it. like a black hole. like a black heart.