It’s the character of Kathy, the narrator and MC, who’s responsible; she’s the one I think I’m warming to because of her quiet, wistful, sensitive, observant nature. I want to be a hitchhiker she’s picked up as she drives across flat landscapes with grey skies overhead and stretching all the way to the horizon. I want to hear the story directly from her own lips, and see the look in her eyes as she reminisces on life and loss without regret. And when we stop for coffee at some soulless motorway service area, I want to hear some more. And I will mostly be quiet and just listen.
I remember falling for Kathy when I watched the film version some years ago. But then, she was being played by Cary Mulligan and I’d fall for Cary Mulligan if she had a non-speaking part playing the flower seller on the corner and wearing a funny hat.
(I think I should shut up about Cary Mulligan now. I’m irritating myself.)
I needn’t shut up about flower sellers, though. I dislike cut flowers, you see, and so I dislike florists’ shops apart from the pleasant smell. I like to see flowers growing in the gardens, and the hedgerows, and the meadows, and alongside woodland paths. They look happy there. I suspect it’s an INFJ thing.
I’ve watched a lot of videos on INFJs recently and they’re so spot-on. Hearing my own nature being described to me is about the only thing that makes me smile at the moment.
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