“Nah, I shook my head, things that come out of nowhere go back to nowhere, that’s all.
We fell silent again. The thing we had shared was nothing more than a fragment of time that had died long ago. Even so, a faint glimmer of that warm memory still claimed a part of my heart. And when death claimed me, no doubt I would walk along by that faint light in the brief instant before being flung once again into the abyss of nothingness.”
―
Haruki Murakami,
Pinball, 1973
