张思扬
I'm very tired today. The wind at the beach before sunset was almost red, as if from a long time ago. A hundred years earlier, a book chronicled a wander from the beach to the bedside, with the journey seemingly ending in a dream. This voyage lasted eighteen hours, yet I only remember the book weighed less than two pounds. The dream held the meaning of return; earlier still, another book recounted someone s story of coming home, while others threw stones at him. He walked the road for ten years, but I similarly can't recall its title. There are two directors who wish to remember these names. In their lms, a boy looks at me sadly; he leaves twenty years later. You see, I am writing again. One second before tomorrow.
2023