As Murakami says, life is just a continual loss of things. And you’ll always end up losing things you thought you wanted to keep and rarely the things you didn’t care if they were lost.
I scroll through endless photos of muted pastels and sepia bare-chested women. It makes me feel odd, cold, but not discontent. Just odd and cold and like I missed the boat or something. The boat on what? I don’t know. Sometimes I endlessly feel like I’m floating in a sea of my own dreams when I look on the internet. When I look at my own collected bookmarked tabs, liked photos, and folder after folder full of imgs and gifs, I wonder what I see of myself in them.
Humans are primarily visual creatures, we eat pictures up. We devour them, like them or dislike them, and move on to the next couple 1,000 more we’ll scroll through that hour. Rarely do I find a picture that I sit and stare at but when I do it is because of one of four things: nostalgia, reflection, desire, or an unknown feeling of inspiration.