Bars are locked the door, there is a notice posted on the door, said the school has moved to Lockhart Road, please guests
Contact to the new site, and please do not enter the houses of private property within this building.
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See, she said nothing and walked away, but I know she would tell his father at night. Which day I even in school
Why there is no way to do things, always hand-holding pile of money into his pocket, palm is sweating.
That night is how I have forgotten the face, but since then did not dare make the same mistake.
There the wind came, blew the tree on the slopes of rustling, I turned to leave, suddenly a very strong but miss three
Ten years ago that a small figure, and her collection of those trivial sadness and happiness.
My childhood home from school along the ladder of the layers go on, tears began to float up along the edge of the orbit.
In painting and writing something, I always want to have a good start.
Especially poetry, I constantly change, but it is reluctant to leave any changes in the paper traces, so the total
Is repeated transcriptions, as long as the wrong word, the re-start.
I like a piece of white writing paper, and with the deep black ink a word for word straight and write down each
Also be arranged in rows according to plan completely, so finally a poem written after the under the table is always filled with waste
Abandoned the manuscript.
Back in Taipei from Hong Kong that night, the mother asked me smile: "You do not look back to Wan Chai?"
I stood beside the bed, actually not honestly answer, mumbled twelve went to put it diverge.
During the night, a man sitting at the table, it could not stop the tears dripping down.
Is life really no way to change, but really only be fixed in a wrong format in it?
Her mother, who lives only a childhood, why I can not promise days growing up in sweat next to a beautiful lake?
Mom, you did not say it before his sick bed, then at the moment it is an a cross on my chest to my throat.
Mom, I not only back to Wan Chai, back to my previous home, the old school, I even noon on this day
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go shopping street market. That I did not expect to do, not
Turned a corner in mind, I returned to the markets that thirty years ago. Piece of narrow street, which spread
Bit, those vendors, those vegetables for color and smell, sound and image to those people, my mother, everything and thirty
Years ago, exactly the same, even including that of the midday summer sun dazzling.
Mom, I do not have any ability to ward off, chest full of attachment and in an instant nostalgia. Mom, I did not
There are ways. Although, according to your argument, that more than five years, we are only a guest in Hong Kong only, but that time,
That five years, but it is the period of my life can not be replaced can not be modified again in childhood can not be re-ah!
When you hold my little hand slowly through the crowded bustle of the marketplace, when you must not think you are casting a
All my memories, right? You must not think that you and your father is a child with a lead step by step moving away from
Khan Snow Day Lake.
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Between the chase group. Even one day I grew up left, then leave when you like it, I still
Keep in mind that everything on a piece of land, colors and smells, sounds and images, ready to have a good day,
When turned a mountain, or around a hill, when suddenly re-see, hear and smell in the waiting
Of my childhood that has not changed!
However, from the beginning of my life first, you will continue to lead me step by step, heart to stay away from my office. My
Childhood only a narrow street in this or that appear on a slope, and I only remember these can not not filled
Strong attachment.
Thirty years had passed, life has finally fixed an error and inconsistent, and no longer modify the format
In the mother, we never start again, standing on the street midday summer, I finally found what I have
Not, and what can not be.
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Mom, can only have one life, childhood, why I can not promise days growing up in sweat next to a beautiful lake? |
