雪的故事 Snow story

雪的故事 Snow story

雪的故事 Snow story

伽蓝 Jan.14,2017 1:14 于深圳景田
Photo by Ralf
samgharama Jan.14,2017 1:14 In Shenzhen JingTian

  ralf, 我跟你说一个雪的故事,我自己的。

当我18岁的时候,我爱上我前夫。那时通讯非常困难,我们只能写信,打电话非常贵,而且很难找到电话。但是一封信要在路上走5-8天,所以即使我收到信,已经是一个星期前的事了。但是我们每天一封信,有时候两封。

我每天要去寄信,取信,我们住在一个很大的学校里,要走半个小时才能到门口的邮筒。

那个冬天,下了很大的雪,大概有20cm厚。

我在一块没有人经过的雪地上,写了他的名字,画了心。雪很厚,大概两个月都没有化,没有人经过,保存得非常好。我每天经过,在那里站半天,然后出去,再回来,再看半天。

有时候,信没有到,我失望而回。想念太深,我会在他的名字前面哭。

可是日子总要过,希望总在。有时候一次拿到好几封信,我会唱着歌、蹦跳着,开心地一路尖叫跑回家。

这个故事无法再写下去了,因为和真实版的王子和公主的故事一样,烟花绚烂过之后,一切归于沉寂。

那是1989年,将近三十年前,那会儿只有信。现在这些信在阁楼里静悄悄地躺着,无声无息,静待老逝。

现在是多维空间了,可是为什么我们比那时还难?我没有他的任何音讯,我 是他手里的风筝,那根线,我看不到头。

ralf:这是一个悲伤的故事,你总是哭。
我:爱是如此辛苦,但是为什么我们总是要去追寻?
ralf:因为爱让你飞,像一只鸟儿。

 

  ralf, Let me tell you a story about snow, my own.

When I was 18 years old, I fell in love with my ex husband. that time communication was so difficult that we could only write, Calling is very expensive, and it’s hard to find a phone. Even to the extent that a letter to go on the road 5-8 days, so even if I received the letter, it is already a week ago. But we write a letter every day, sometimes two.

I have to go every day should to send a letter,and retrieve letter,
We live in a big school, take half an hour to get to the door and the mailbox.

That winter, a lot of snow, about 20cm thick.

On a piece of snow that had no one been passed, I wrote his name and drew a heart. The snow is very thick, about two months have not changed, no one passed, very well preserved. I pass every day, where to stand for a long time, and then go out, and then come back, look at a long time again.

Sometimes, the letter does not arrive, I am disappointed and return. Missing too much, I will cry in front of his name.

But the day is always over, hope always exists. Sometimes I get a few letters at a time, I’m singing and dancing and screaming happily run back home all the way.

This story can not be written down more, because same with the real version of the story of the prince and the princess, like the fireworks after the gorgeous, all attributed to silence.

It was 1989, almost thirty years ago, when only the letter. Now these letters in the attic quietly lying down, waiting for the soundless and stirless grow old, and die.

Now the time it’s hyperspace, but why are we so hard more than that time? I don’t have any tidings from him. I’m a kite in his hand, that line, I can’t see the end.

ralf :Its a sad story, you cry often.
me:Love is a sad thing. But why do we always have to go to find it?
ralf :Because love lets you fly like a bird.

伽蓝

samgharama@samgharama.com