二月的暖气片上的灰尘，三月阳光下冰面上的水雾，四月的玉兰上的露水，五月蛋糕上最后一支燃烧着的生日蜡烛，六月的潮湿空气里呐喊，七月空荡荡房间内孤独的梦魇。仿佛一年的365天成为了上个世纪的事情。一切文字在信纸上跳跃消散，最后一丝的划痕挣扎了一两下之后被折叠在时间里。藕断，丝也断。没有什么再被连接起来。时间，时间斩去了一切的回溯的希望，把你限制在墒增的厚厚的茧里，如果你不变态羽化，那么只有消亡。偶尔，在梦里，你的声音和他的脸，我们不约而同的哼起曾经共同熟悉的旋律。泪水，似乎早已将我们淹没。

手里捧着那二十多年来丢失的断丝，逐渐意识到，它们才是永恒的，而我们，以及我们之间，转瞬即逝。我们还在那里，那个时间和空间。只是，我们已经不再。

 

The floating dust burned into the wall above the heater in February, the dancing water mist over the thin ice in March, the dew on the magnolia in April, the last burning birthday candle on the cake in May, the growl in the moist air in June, the lonely nightmare in an empty room in July. It seems that 365 days of a year have become a thing from the last century. All the alphabets scattered and dissipated on the surface the paper, and the last trace of scratches was folded in time after struggling for a couple of times in vain. The lotus root is broken, so are the clinging fibers. Nothing is connected anymore. Time, time chopped off all hope of going back, confining you to the thickest cocoon. If you do not grow out of a transformation, then die inside. Occasionally, in a dream, your voice, and his face, we invariably hummed the melody that we used to know.

Holding the broken clinging fibers that have been lost for more than 20 years, I gradually realized that they are eternal. While we, and the connections between us, are just a blink of an eye. We are still there, that time and space. Yet, we are no longer there.