“At five-thirty I closed my book, went outside, and ate a light supper. How many Sundays — how many hundreds of Sundays are like this — lay ahead of me? ‘Quiet, peaceful, and lonely,’ I said aloud to myself. On Sundays, I didn’t wind my spring.” murakami my goat oh my god 😭
— Jan 15, 2026 11:19AM
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