But if you get over it, it's true. What's the use of being strange? Although laughter lingers in my ears, it has long been like a dream. I only have one heart, and my empty and lonely heart is put in a rectangular hut. I saw the walls as cold as slate, the books arranged in rows on the shelves as stones, and the folds of quilts and coats on the bed became the works of sculptors. My heart is dead, everything is dead, and even more so. -Did I get to Pom? Pai? No, I didn't prove it myself. Through the window, I can still see the smoke curling up from the kitchen. Although it's still curling, how weak is it? -Have I arrived at Westminster Abbey? I proved myself not. I can't see the dark corridor, nor can I see the poet's grave. I was just squeezed into a rectangular hut surrounded by cold slate walls. Where the hell am I? The long green branches of the two pots of grass on the table, the shadows reflected in the mirror, the faint shadows I saw through the glass; The shadow reflected on the electroplated Jason Chung seat is always covered with a layer of green fog. Is it beautiful and lively? Why does it also become like a relief? -everything is over, and everything is swallowed up by loneliness. Loneliness is fixed on the photo hanging on the wall, on the spider web in the corner, and on my own shadow in the mirror. ...
Is everything really swallowed up by loneliness? No, I have myself. I tried to lift my arm, but I could still lift it. I shook my head and the shadow in the mirror moved. I asked myself: Who put me here? It's me. Now I realize it's me. I can run away. ...
I can escape, however, loneliness keeps up with me! Isn't the library where we usually run 100 meters to grab books very lively? Why is it so cold now? When I look from one end to the other, it's like seeing a hazy dream. The yellow sunlight shines in through the window, forming a light path and shining on the smooth desktop. It's neither dazzling nor dazzling, it just sticks to the table, like-like what? I don't want to say, just like Phnom Penh on a dark coffin in the countryside, there are several readers sitting sparsely, which reminds me of the stars in the sky in Yamashita, but they all sit like statues, silent and motionless. Are they people? No, I don't look like a mummy, do I? I don't like it because I can't smell the mummy, like a dead body? A little, but not all-I saw their stiff posture; I saw their dead white eyes turn one by one. Now I know what they look like, like dead fish in the fish market, lining up in piles, bulging their bellies and rolling their eyes. Terrible! However, I can escape, but loneliness follows me. Where can I escape?
Is this the end of the world? The end of the world, how terrible! I once imagined myself to be the last creature in the world. I sweated a lot because of this meaningless imagination, but now it really taught me the taste. The sky is upside down like a basin, and the western hills in the distance and the balconies nearby are attached to the gray basin bottom like silhouettes. The bird stood motionless on the heaped-up mountain with its neck constricted, like a specimen in a museum. The running water slowly sings a sad song under the ice, and the clouds in the sky stick out like plasters on my lonely heart, stabbing my lonely heart like fishbones.
However, I found a figure swimming around me. I know I'm not the last creature in the world. I felt a smile in my heart, but (but) I didn't wait for this kindness to float on my face. I saw the people next to me roll their eyes like mummies? Like zombies? Like the dead fish on display at the fish market? Who has patience to care? Tremors ran through my whole body. I want to escape. Loneliness drove me away. I want to escape. Where can I escape? Oh, dear! I don't know where to escape.
When night comes, it brings more loneliness. When I walked back to the dormitory from the outside, there was a dead silence all around, but there always seemed to be rustling footsteps around me. Say, actually, where is the noise? I just feel something following me. If it is in the daytime, I must say it is a shadow. If I fall asleep, I must say it's a dream. What is this? I know, this is loneliness. From a distance, I saw the dormitory under the dark night sky. Didn't every window give off warm and soft light before? However, it has changed, everything has changed, most of the windows are black, a few windows are closed, and a few rays of light are faintly generate. How dim and gloomy are they? No, it's not the light outside the window, it's the ghost fire in the cemetery, it's the magic light in the cave. I'm in a ghost world, and I'm a ghost myself.
I lie flat on the bed, let the faint light flow on me, let loneliness beat around me, and listen to the footsteps coming from afar, vaguely, too weak to hear clearly and inaudible. Where did this sound come from? It comes from a distant country! From the lonely desert! However, it is farther than the distant land; My hut is a grave, and this sound is coming from the feet of passers-by outside the grave! how far is it from here? Dare not imagine, dare not imagine, hope! There is a vast white sea flowing in the middle. What is the sea? It is loneliness.
Through the window, it is a dead night outside, looking out through the covered glass, there is no light; I can't see all the clear outlines, only the darkness, the vague shadows in the darkness and the dark gray sky. Three months ago, there were a bunch of leaves on this bare dead branch, fighting in the bleak autumn wind and covered with a faint yellow fog. Furthermore, five or six months ago, clusters of dense green were woven on the same dead branches and condensed into thick green in the rain; Shining golden in the poisonous sun. Push forward again, and in spring, red flowers like Mars are embedded in this dead branch, which looks like a flame from a distance-but in a blink of an eye, what happened now? Changed, all changed, leaving only bare dead branches, stabbing the sky, putting a little warm life in the center of this dead branch, covering it with this stiff skin and enduring the wild blowing of the north wind; Endure the solidification of snow; Endure loneliness, just like me. It should also look forward to the arrival of spring and lonely seclusion like me. When will spring come? When will loneliness go? This long night, this long winter ...