匆匆 6( 2 )班 Chen TingtingS there is a time of return; rees may have died back, but there is a time of regreening; peach blossoms may have fallen, but they he ell me, o return? If they had been stolen by someone, be? hem? If they had made the escape themselves, then hey stay at the moment? I don"t knoo spend, but I do feel my hands are getting empty. Taking stock silently, I find that more than eight thousand days have already slid aer from the point of a needle disappearing into the ocean, my days are dripping into the stream of time, soundless, traceless. Already s is starting on my forehead, and tears hose that have gone have gone for good, those to come keep coming; yet in bet is the shift, in such a rush? up in the morning, the slanting sun marks its presence in my small room in three oblongs. The sun has feet, look, he is treading on, lightly and furtively; and I am caught, blankly, in his revolution. Thus--the day flohrough the sink he bo my meal, and passes a in silence. I can feel his haste no my hands to hold him back, but he keeps flo my hholding hands. In the evening, as I lie in bed, he strides over my body, glides past my feet, in his agile he moment I open my eyes and meet the sun again, one the neo flash past in the sigh. can I do, in this bustling h my days flying in their escape? Nothing but to hesitate, to rush. have I been doing in that eight-thousand-day rush, apart from hesitating? Those bygone days have been dispersed as smoke by a light ed as mist by the morning sun. traces have I left behind me? Have I ever left behind any gossamer traces at all? I have come to the ark naked; am I to go back, in a blink, in the same stark nakedness? It is not fair though: rip for nothing 中国教育文摘;
