"Anyone who cannot come to terms with his life while he is alive needs on hand to ward off a little his despair over his fate—he has little success in this—but with the other hand he can note down what he sees among the ruins, for he sees different (and more) things than do the others; after all, dead as he is in his own lifetime, he is the real survivor. This assumes that he does not need both hands, or more hands than he has, in his struggle against despair."--Kafka



Wednesday, August 18, 2010

完成

右手姆指因大量打字而疼痛。我突然覺得書本才是好朋友,電腦只會殘害身體。
重回工作崗位,就開始忘記許多事情了。

sometimes i just can't remember all the things we did together

all those thick books that we read together
i burnt them cos i felt cold in the summer
the wind's so strong it blew up all the pages
they flew round me, trapped me like three hundred cages

all those things we told each other
today i can't remember any longer
i tried to turn my diary, get some memories
but in vain cos i don't even remember your name

something in my mind
keeps me from knowing what's inside
from time to time
i ask why
not because i wonder why
i wanna fly not because i have seen the blue sky

so many desires
for all the things we choose in our lives
do you have time to get tired
when you're just a passer-by
it's time to realise it's all designed

all dishes we cooked together
they tasted sweet but now they've all gone bitter
still i keep them in my refrigerator
they stink so much but i eat them as appetizers

all those dreams we made together
like bubbles they flew up and burst in the air
once we were naive enough to chase after them
we used to fall but hey so what
we're truly happy

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