155

晚上沈思一下

For the nineteen years I have lived, I have had the fortune of keeping the people I love close by. I think you might be the first person who is going to leave me, and leave so soon. You are going to a place that I call home, but you will stand on the opposite shore. Maybe you will forever stand on that shore, in a place where I cannot reach nor find you. For a long time I have kept you locked in my heart, with a key I swallowed, when I realized that your likeness was in danger of becoming a dream. I unlocked the chamber from time to time, to steal a look at you from behind the trees, or to smile at you, and hear your laughter. But most of the time I never dare to unlock it. I have too much to risk, and not enough to give. 

I have been urged to release you from the chamber that binds you, but I cannot do that. You are too important for me to lose memory of you, and yet, distant enough so that I can keep you inside without feeling unhappy. There is so much I want to say, but I don't have the courage to say any of it. The reason I want to grow up is because of you. There is so much I want to know. And most of all, there are so many reasons why I wish you won't leave me. 

129

In between the noiseless city and the lights that never dim I am not supposed to think of you. But in twenty years this place will be as much a part of me as you ever were. So as I listen to the piano sonatas that I once could memorize, to the books I once loved to read, I wonder if I have lost my passion for things that I used to find such joy in doing; I wonder if I have lost the ability to love.

107

They say Paris is the city for lovers, but never has a place made me feel so alone.

Sitting in front of Café Terrace, cupping a cup of café du lait between my red-mittened hands, watching the street light up slowly as the day gets ready for bed, and the moon begins to waken, I look round, and I smile. To any passersby I am waiting for someone. In my own mind I am not.

We were stars, gifted light by the candles of our confused hearts, in love and in trouble. The Parisian sky was supposed to be our home, our little cottage by the sea of constellations. The thing I loved most about being a star was the fact that we could shine anywhere, no matter how dark or how dismal, even if the clouds tried to drown us in their own grey misery, we burned bright.

And you, you no longer sit with me in Paris, because I know no matter how lovely our sky or how beautiful our home is, you won't come to find me. I wonder if you ever wonder. But you don't need to. I already have you, in a place you will never leave.

106

The keys move in waves, up and down up and down the piano, pressed gently by dancing fingers, made to be soft and strong in all the right places. The piece is Frédéric Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu in C-sharp minor, Op. posth. 66, written by a composer who was said to have hated the very sound of it. Like a tiny cathedral in the forest, the strings inside the Yamaha's wooden body sound their little bells, beaten by little hammers. Up and down, up and down, waltzing to the tune of a dream.

Gentle, pianissimo, your hand on my shoulder as you move my upper body to the stream of the melody. You push me straight into the sea of notes, as I find myself swimming in the very feelings I have sought to escape. It overtakes me like the smell of baby powder, and I am afraid to close my eyes, for fear that you will not be beside me when I open them again. I am asleep, but I am so awake. I can hear the sounds, I can see the keys, I can taste the fortes and pianissimos upon my tongue. But I can't feel you. You're right here, standing next to me, your soft hands cradling my hopes and nurturing the notes, but you are not real, you are not real. You are a dream, like everything I have ever dreamed of, like every little piece of a puzzle that will never become one.

The keys cease to move, the hammers cease to beat, and fingers cease to dance. And a heartbeat stops, short of the one thing it yearned for the most, the love I felt for this piece, for the piano, and for you.

051

si on peut voyager au temps passé, quelle route est-ce que tu choisirais?
si on peut voyager au temps passé, à quelle personne est-ce que tu promettrais ta vie?
si on peut voyager au temps passe...

on veut toujours la possibilité de voyager au temps passe,
mais on oublie, de temps en temps, la beauté du temps présent.

048

and how did I ever pass you by,
if you were always looking at me.

當我的天空不停著下雨你是我的傘
等待 等待一個永遠不會出現的晴天