My heart is just about gone now. The warmth I used to have has retreated somewhere far away. Sometimes I even forget that warmth ever existed. I'm still able to cry, though. I'm completely alone, in the coldest, loneniest place in the world. When I cry, my husband kisses my cheecks, turning my tears to ice. He peels off those frozen tears and puts them on his tongue. You know I love you, he says. And I know it's true. The Ice Man does love me. But the wind blows his frozen words further and further into the past. And I cry some more, icy tears welling up ceaselessly in our frozen little home in the far off South Pole.
Haruki Murakami in Blind Willow,
Sleeping Woman
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