“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.”
......你若称他为天使，
就请祝福，而非赞美他的翅膀。
双翼之下是时间，
水色眼眸中是生命。
你若发现他衰老的痕迹，
就请微笑，而非哀悼他的金发。
潮汐带走的是悲伤，
波光闪烁的是他的乐章。
