What We Once Held Will Eventually Fade
（我们拥有过的终将要逝去）
（我们拥有过的终将要逝去）
All that we have ever held will one day pass away.
When I look at you again, I think of sunlight — of an afternoon nap, of the deep green feathers of leaves. I think of the moon at the edge of the roof, of clouds wandering through forests of pine. I think of centuries later, when sand and wind bury this city, when we may never again stand before the end of the world and laugh without restraint. I think of millennia later, when the sea swallows every ruin, and everything we once lived through softens into nothing but a sigh.
I remember you once said you wanted to hold my hand and walk again down the old road. To stop by a street corner in the 1930s, to buy me a paper flower. And I remember whispering: paper is too light-hearted—cheap, and unworthy of sorrow.
In the end, what we face is still separation. I tell myself again and again that you went to war, that you died beneath a blood-red sunset. But how could I lie to myself? That letter you wrote by hand—folded, unfolded, its ink fading like peeled memories. That umbrella still leans by the door, long untouched. We drifted through the crowd, pushed along by time, until the moon rose once more over the western hills, and everything dissolved.
The day you left, it rained again. I touched the window frame, leaving five faint fingerprints on the glass. I once believed this hand’s purpose was to hold yours into old age, until our bones turned to dust and silence. But it was never meant to rest—without you, what blessing could there be across three lifetimes?
我们拥有过的终将要逝去。
当我又一次看向你，我想到阳光，午后的小憩，苍翠的植羽；我想到面边尽头的月，想到游走于林森间的云。我想到几百年后沙尘掩埋了这座城池，我们或许再也不能面对着世界末日纵情欢愉。我想到几千年后，那大海吞噬掉所有的古迹，之前所经历过的一切，都淡的只剩下叹息。
我记得那时你说过，你想牵我的手，重温过去的老路。在一九三几年的街畔停留，买一只纸糊的花送我。我也记得那时我的耳语：纸太薄情，廉价而不可惜。
我们最终面临的仍是分离。我反复地告诫自己，你参了军，牺牲于如血残阳染红的天际。可我又如何骗得了自己？那一张亲手书写的信，折了又折，字迹斑驳，像剥落的记忆。那一把伞，立在门柜旁已久，再无人问津。我们来来去去，推搡着走在人群里。在月又笼上西山之时，消弥殆尽。
你走的那天，天空又下起了雨。我抚摸着窗棂，在玻璃上印下五个指头的手印。我原以为它今生的职责是牵你老去，直至骨化成泥，零落不语。可它注定今生无依，若遗失了你，何谈三生有幸。