as if to build a fence around the fatal emptiness inside her,

she had to create a sunny person that she became.

but if you peeled away the ornamental egos that she had built,

there was only an abbys of nothingness

and the intense thirst that came with it.

though she tried to forget it,

the nothingness would visit her periodically – on a lonely rainy afternoon,

or at dawn when she woke up from a nightmare.

what she needed at such times was to be held by someone, anyone.

– haruki murakami –