“Be still, no more harsh words.
There’s not much left for me.
Don’t cry over me.
There’s no longer any fire to put out.
I no longer have a sense of what I am
and what I’m not.
I look around. Is that me?
Or that?
I’m becoming more and more invisible.
I’ve given away all I ever had.
But I’m not going to die.
What remains: a door.
I don’t die, I just disappear.
Maybe, I’ll reawaken.
Then I will return to look for you.”
......你若稱他為天使，
就請祝福，而非贊美他的翅膀。
雙翼之下是時間，
水色眼眸中是生命。
你若發現他衰老的痕迹，
就請微笑，而非哀悼他的金發。
潮汐帶走的是悲傷，
波光閃爍的是他的樂章。
