Kafka said: happy even if my head is sick.

“I can't think of anything to write. I’m just walking around here between the lines, underneath the light of your eyes, in the breath of your mouth like in some beautiful happy day, which stays beautiful and happy even if my head is sick, tired, and if l have to leave Monday via Munich.”

Letters to Milena — (June 1, 1920)

Please just absorb every word he writes here! He speaks so delicately and with such love.

Hooray! I’ve picked up a Kafka book. I was flipping through Letters to Milena, as one does when they feel melancholic. On my trip, I saw that I underlined this—in ink (very serious commitment on my part). Well, it stuck with me again! I can’t get it out of my head.

“I can't think of anything to write. I’m just walking around here between the lines…”

In some way, all of my being, highlights mainly this part above. Kafka can’t think of anything to reply back with. He’d rather read, even dissect every word in her letter. Study the letter, from top to bottom. “I’m just walking here…” so simple—but very major…It kills me.

Walking…just walking here. Don’t mind Kafka, he’s just walking through the sentences of Milena’s letter. There’s nothing to rush, he can’t answer. He’d rather spend his time trying to catch her reflection in her written words.

“…underneath the light of your eyes, in the breath of your mouth like in some beautiful happy day, which stays beautiful and happy even if my head is sick…”

Kafka sticks to remain joyful for that moment. He wants to remain there, “underneath” her light. In just the existence of her letter, her word, Kafka is joyful. Nothing outside of this letter will make him feel the opposite.