precious

"What can you see outside?"

"I see trees, the sky, and some clouds. Some birds on tree branches."

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Right?"

"That's right."

"But if you knew you might not be able to see it again tomorrow, everything would suddenly become special and precious, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose so."

"Have you ever thought about that?"

"I have."

A surprised look comes over her. "When?"

"When I'm in love," I tell her.

She smiles faintly, and it continues to hover around her lips.

"Are you in love?" she asks.

"Yes."

"And her face and whole being are precious to you, each time you see her?"

"That's right. And I might lose those."

— Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore