“but even so, every now and then i would feel a violent stab of loneliness. the very water i drink, the very air i breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. the pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. i could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.” ― haruki murakami, the wind-up bird chronicle
another concentration piece about loneliness that sprouts from growing up and drifting away from your old friends. the color theme shows not sadness or anger or happiness but more of a slight irritability because the time is slipping away too fast.