A bullet

A bullet

The air was infused with the silence of winter, unresting. A dim wisp of warm, yellowish light shined upon the room at dawn. The gray cement floor illuminated traces of broken boards. With a lazy breathe I slowly exhaled a mouthful of taste of toothpaste from yesterday. Rubbing the eyes that had been stung by the morning sun, I reluctantly swung my hands in the chilly air and put on my favorite scruffy shirt.

Not noticing that winter had silently creeped upon me, I saw the last piece of leaf wilt before my eyes.

The last leaf of winter awaited the spring. I looked up and saw its eyes filled with tears of happiness. When it fell quietly I suddenly thought of you and your gentle face. I did not want to say goodbye, nor did you. I longed to be at your company and exchange small vows with god that we would never be separated.

Let me be at your side in the coldest seasons and we would wait for spring.

No one was able to rewind time to appreciate everything that they had missed. They could only stay in stained photos and set foot on a certain point in time. They were dead. There was no hope of resurrection. Memory is dormant. Memory is solid. Our future is filled with the unknown and expectations.

I thought to myself repeatedly, what was to become of us when we die? That inevitable moment of death. How would it feel? Do we merely close our eyes and rest? Will there be pain? As I thought of these I entered the dream I had woven for us.

In this dream everything seemed familiar. It was a mirage that seemed somehow bizarre and disturbing. I felt the passage of time in the air of uncertainty. I was aware that this was only a dream but what of reality? At the precise moment of when we die we wake up from our dreams. Is that so?

Today, perhaps, deep down in my bones, I am not a materialistic person.

Is death painful?

Then, what is pain anyways?

Pain is a wonderful creature. It transforms fuzziness into clarity, it sharpens what is blunt. Through pains we endure, the feelings of love become clear and sharp. The sense of existence had always rose from pain. The sense of security had always been standing next to numbness.

I say, pain is the sharp sting you feel from the sensations of the iced water you gulp with greed right after lunch. That I can call pain.

Perhaps this is only a form of physical pain. It is the pain from the heart that truly stings.

送你一颗子弹

空气中还是夹杂着冬日的沉寂和骚动。在清晨的一缕缕暗黄的光线照进房间,在灰色的水泥板地上映现出一块一块破碎的痕迹。操着慵懒的口气慢慢的呼出一口带着昨日牙膏味道的口气。揉揉已经被阳光刺痛的双眼,不情愿的掏出双手, 在带着丝丝凉意的空气中缓缓的把衬衫穿起。

不知不觉已经到了冬天,我遇见最后一片树叶。

冬天里最后一片树叶,很静的等待着春天。抬起头我看着它眼睛里充满了幸福的泪水,当树叶静静的静静落下来,我突然想起了你,温暖的脸,我不想说再见,不想和你分别,想陪在你身边为你许下小小心愿。

最寒冷的季节,就让我回到你身边,在一起期待着春天,在一起期待着春天,不知不觉已经到了冬天,我遇见最后一片树叶,冬天里最后一片树叶,很静的等待着春天,抬起头我看着它眼睛里充满了幸福的泪水,当树叶静静的静静落下来,我突然想起了你的笑脸,我不想说再见,不想和你分别想陪在你身边,为你许下小小心愿

人人事事不再可以倒带回去体味其中的感觉,它们只能停留在一张张泛黄的照片上,驻足在过去的某一个时间点上,它们已经死去,没有复活的希望。记忆是沉睡的,是固体的,我们的未来却充满了未知与期望。

我反反复复的思考,我们死后究竟会是怎样,死亡的那一刻究竟是怎样的感觉,是沉睡过去,会有疼痛吗?渐渐的思考着,我进入了自己编织的梦境。

在这个梦境中,一切都是似曾相识的,一切都是那样的熟稔,但又是那样的陌生与不安,我感到时间的流逝,感到空气中的不稳定因素,我知道这是梦境,但现实是不是也是一个大的梦境,当我们死去的那一刹那间,我们会从我们的梦中醒来,是这样的么?

时至今日,或许,我不是一个骨子里喜欢现实的人。

死亡会很痛么?

那,痛又是什么?

痛是一种很神奇的东西。它把模糊的东西,转化为清晰。把迟钝的东西,转化为尖锐。就是通过被伤害,爱的感觉变的清晰而尖锐。存在感总是与痛感联系在一起,而安全又总是紧挨着麻木。

在我看来,痛就是午后吃饱后,喝一大口冰水,在口中冰水混合物刺激口腔的感觉就是痛。

或许,这只是一种物理上的疼痛,在心口上的疼痛会更尖锐。

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