Game of Mirrors
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THE READER

  1. Each night I take the last train. Usually I am the only passenger. This station is not frequented. Since the first day of summer, two girls have joined me for the solitary ritual of my waiting. They arrive silently, one following the other. I don’t have much of an aptitude for beauty. What others call beautiful leaves me indifferent. That being said, I do admit that the first of these two young women has something that I can’t put my finger on,--a streak of light, a trembling, a burst of color,--an element that doubles in intensity when her companion arrives, to such a degree that I consider it highly dangerous. That danger is the only thing that I could agree to as beautiful.

  2. The first fragrance reaches me. A sea that has bled thousands of lives, a sea that shines and blinds you with its thorns. Shortly thereafter, the second aroma: another sea. Ocean in which a single light drowns, an ocean that feeds on shadow and memory. The aromas meet. They start dancing around each other. That is how the duel starts.
  3. One is named Wave. The other is named Sand. The first one is the daughter of the horizon. The other is the daughter of the earth. Wave permits the octopus of blue rings to enter her body, as well as the anemone that glows and burns. Sand makes the island and my face disappear.

    Sand consumes Wave. Wave erases the memory of Sand.

    Wave withdraws and leaves her savage humidity in my body, her salt that wounds. Sand dissipates and leaves her hard radiance in my eyes, the city that burns in her vacancy.

  4. I open today’s Renim Bao. I start reading an article on the economy, a new triumph of industry. I slowly become aware that the characters on the page are insects that start vibrating, moving between the pages. I try to keep calm, feigning that nothing odd is afoot. Two beetles, one after the other, open their shells and take flight. I’m able to glimpse a metallic glitter between the black blot of buzzing wings. They approach the two girls beside me. From the corner of my eyes I see how the beetles have taken refuge in their bodies.

    An air-current flutters my newspaper, announcing the train’s approach.

  5. We will witness miracles from the corner of our eye.
  6. Blue is the color of waiting.

    There are no blue peonies.

等待

  1. 每夜我乘坐最后一班列车。经常我只是乘客。通常没有多少人光顾这个车站。从夏天的第一天起,两个女孩加入我原本孤单的等车仪式。他们静静地到达,一个接另一个。我对美没有很高的资质。对他人口中唯美的树叶,我无动于衷。话虽如此,我承认两个年轻女人的头一个确实有我不能言表的东西,-- 一缕光,一次振颤,一抹色彩,-- 当她的女伴到来时,这个元素的强度加倍了,达到了让我感到高度危险的程度。危险是我心中唯一和唯美对等的词汇。
  2. 芬芳第一次触及了我。一个孕育了成千上万生命的海洋,一个照耀你并用它的荆棘使你盲目的海洋。紧接着不久之后,第二次芳香:另一个海洋。单束灯光被淹没的海洋,一个吞噬阴影和记忆的海洋。这些芬芳交织在一起。他们开始在彼此周围舞蹈。那就是决斗如何开始的。
  3. 决斗一方叫波浪。另一方叫沙。 第一个是地平线的女儿。另一个是大地的女儿。波浪允许蓝圈章鱼进入她的身体,也接纳海葵的生长和燃烧。沙组成了岛屿并且掩埋了我的面容。

    沙消融了波浪。波浪抹掉了沙的记忆。

    波浪退却了并且在我的体内留下了她残忍的湿度、她的盐分和伤口。 沙消散着并且在我的眼里留下了她坚硬的光辉,城市在她的空缺中燃烧。

  4. 我打开了今天的人民报。我开始阅读经济版的一篇文章,行业的一项新成就。我慢慢意识到页面的文字其实是一群开始颤动、在页面间移动的昆虫。我努力地保持冷静,佯装没有异象在进行。两只甲壳虫,一个接着另一个,展开外壳,起飞。我能瞥到嗡嗡振翅上黑色斑点之间的金属闪亮。 他们飞向了在我旁边的两个女孩。从我的眼角我看到这两只甲壳虫如何在她们身上获得庇护。

    一阵气流拂动了我的报纸,宣布了列车的到来。

  5. 我们将从我们的眼角见证奇迹。
  6. 蓝色是等待的色彩。

    这里没有蓝牡丹。

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