一个爱情故事 – A love story – English

98%
25 paragraph translated (25 in total)
Read or translate in

You are viewing an old revision of this post, from February 24, 2015 @ 23:23:20. See below for differences between this version and the current revision.

– And then?

– And then you appeared.

The story was over.

My stories from the past…happy one, painful ones, heartbreakers, unreconciled ones, regretful ones, stories, all over.

Not even a little lingering fondness was left. Everything from before was now behind me. You gave me a new world. Yesterday, for example, yesterday’s death. I turn my head back and my corpse is laid out on the opposite bank. Gazing distantly across, its corporeal body is as if it is real, as if it is soft.

Those stories are also as soft as before…she secretly runs over to a window and looks at the light, hoping to be illuminated; if the light is not there, then she cries. Another crying person embraces her from behind and she hears the sound of his sobs in the night, she doesn’t say a word. Someone kisses her tears, completely drinking in each and every drop; it is the same person again who made her cry and threw her out of the house, in the late night, on a festival holiday.

What was the holiday? I don’t remember anymore. That feeling of hurt, I do not remember either. I only remember her walking alone on the road, car after car with their lights shining passing right by her, and she walked step by step, her her tears flowing across the entire street.

So many tears. They surely weren’t shed for nothing.

Perhaps they’ve already come back. Padded out my heart today. So when I am walking, I can hear the sound of sloshing, hwalahlah, hwalahlah. If I were to laugh loudly then they would overflow and turn into tears once more.

All is cyclical. The world is circular.

Just like you, except that it is the suffering I bore that has returned again in recompense. You ended the stories from the past, and you began an new story again. That which has disappeared is still continuing.

But how I am just not fed up? How is life so good? There really isn’t anything new under the sun…I too am merely repeating the dead me. That corpse has always been in a place not far behind me.

Can you see it? Have you another corpse by your side?

…No, there’s no way, you are brand new. You were born for me. In my world, you are for the purpose of me.

But I am old-fashioned. I can’t even be laid out flat on the ground. All over my body are creases and I won’t cover them up either. I stand before you and listen to you tell me: I love you, and I also love every one of your creases. They are all beautiful, like the curled up ends of flower petals in their appearance; or as the tiered layers upon layers are on a jellyfish’s skirt.

You can see it, too, right, on the opposite bank of the river. Or you’ve waited for when I’ve not been paying attention and fixed your gaze on it. When you do, is the look in your eyes tender? Will you thank it from bringing me? You should thank it. That dead her, that dead me.

Or perhaps you can’t see it. Or perhaps in your eyes, I too am brand new, so new I still have dew hanging off me. In your world, I am only for the purpose of you.

I turn my head back and look at it. I don’t look at it often at all. The better your are the more I am unable to take myself away to look at it. Sometime I am really upset and annoyed – I worry that it will be lonely.

I talking nonsense, I am the one who is lonely, more like it. It no longer has feeling – sweetness, bitterness, sourness…she will no longer have feeling, she’s tasted it all, she took them with her to die. All manner of things in the past she has experienced. Each of her scars will no longer hurt. She doesn’t even have a single mortal wound, you know, none of them caused her mortal wounds, crying won’t be lethal…she died in my life, I saw you and then I opened my eyes and smiled. She died in the past, died in some distant stories, died in another beginning.

Sometimes I want to roll down a cliff hugging you and roll into the river to drown together and be two corpses hugged together. Death is never parting, death is never ending, death is that good a thing. But to think that I would not be able to quarrel with you, joke with you, or share candy with you again…I am again unwilling to die. Only by living can lots and lots of stuff be done. Life repeats itself and happiness longs for repetition.

Sometimes I gather up those soft stories that happen to her and show you. You always laugh as you read them. You don’t care at all, nor are you drawn in by them, because those stories are repetitions without anything special about them. They all bundle up laughter and tears, and all wrinkly and tired, come to a sudden stop.

And stories that suddenly stop are not good at all. So sometime when you’ve finished reading you ask me,

– And then?

– And then you appeared.

There isn’t anymore.



Source : Douban 29 November 2012

Article Revisions:

Changes:

February 24, 2015 @ 23:23:20Current Revision
Content
<p>- And then?</p> <p>- And then?</p>
<p>- And then you appeared.</p> <p>- And then you appeared.</p>
<p>The story was over.</p> <p>The story was over.</p>
<p>My stories from the past...happy one, painful ones, heartbreakers, unreconciled ones, regretful ones, stories, all over.</p>  <p>My stories from the pasthappy ones, painful ones, heartbreaking ones, unreconciled ones, regretful ones, stories, they're all over.</p>
<p>Not even a little lingering fondness was left. Everything from before was now behind me. You gave me a new world. <span style="color: #ff6600;">Yesterday, for example, yesterday’s death.</span> I turn my head back and my corpse is laid out on the opposite bank. Gazing distantly across, its corporeal body is as if it is real, as if it is soft. </p> <p>Not even a little lingering fondness was left. Everything from before was now behind me. You gave me a new world. <span style="color: #ff6600;">Yesterday, for example, yesterday’s death.</span> I turn my head back and my corpse is laid out on the opposite bank. Gazing distantly across, its corporeal body is as if it is real, as if it is soft. </p>
<p>Those stories are also as soft as before...she secretly runs over to a window and looks at the light, hoping to be illuminated; if the light is not there, then she cries. Another crying person embraces her from behind and she hears the sound of his sobs in the night, she doesn't say a word. Someone kisses her tears, completely drinking in each and every drop; it is the same person again who made her cry and threw her out of the house, in the late night, on a <span style="color: #ff6600;">festival holiday</span>. </p> <p>Those stories are also as soft as before...she secretly runs over to a window and looks at the light, hoping to be illuminated; if the light is not there, then she cries. Another crying person embraces her from behind and she hears the sound of his sobs in the night, she doesn't say a word. Someone kisses her tears, completely drinking in each and every drop; it is the same person again who made her cry and threw her out of the house, in the late night, on a <span style="color: #ff6600;">festival holiday</span>. </p>
<p>What was the holiday? I don't remember anymore. That feeling of hurt, I do not remember either. I only remember her walking alone on the road, car after car with their lights shining passing right by her, and she walked step by step, her her tears flowing across the entire street.</p>  <p>What was the holiday? I dont remember anymore. That feeling of hurt, I do not remember either. I only remember her walking alone on the road, car after car with their lights shining passing right by her, and she walked step by step, her tears flowing across the entire street.</p>
<p>So many tears. They surely weren't shed for nothing.</p> <p>So many tears. They surely weren't shed for nothing.</p>
<p>Perhaps they've already come back. Padded out my heart today. So when I am walking, I can hear the sound of <span style="color: #ff6600;">sloshing, hwalahlah, hwalahlah.</span> If I were to laugh loudly then they would overflow and turn into tears once more.</p> <p>Perhaps they've already come back. Padded out my heart today. So when I am walking, I can hear the sound of <span style="color: #ff6600;">sloshing, hwalahlah, hwalahlah.</span> If I were to laugh loudly then they would overflow and turn into tears once more.</p>
<p>All is cyclical. The world is circular.</p> <p>All is cyclical. The world is circular.</p>
<p>Just like you, except that it is the suffering I bore that has <span style="color: #ff6600;">returned again in recompense</span>. You ended the stories from the past, and you began an new story again. That which has disappeared is still continuing.</p>  <p>Just like you, except that it is the suffering I bore that has <span style="color: #ff6600;">returned again in recompense</span>. You ended the stories from the past, and you began a new story again. That which has disappeared is still continuing.</p>
<p>But how I am just not fed up? How is life so good? There really isn't anything new <span style="color: #ff6600;">under the sun</span>...I too am merely <span style="color: #ff6600;">repeating the dead me</span>. That corpse has always been in a place not far behind me.</p> <p>But how I am just not fed up? How is life so good? There really isn't anything new <span style="color: #ff6600;">under the sun</span>...I too am merely <span style="color: #ff6600;">repeating the dead me</span>. That corpse has always been in a place not far behind me.</p>
<p>Can you see it? Have you another corpse by your side?</p> <p>Can you see it? Have you another corpse by your side?</p>
<p>...No, there's no way, you are brand new. You were born for me. In my world, you are for the purpose of me.</p> <p>...No, there's no way, you are brand new. You were born for me. In my world, you are for the purpose of me.</p>
<p>But I am old-fashioned. I can't even be laid out flat on the ground. All over my body are creases and I won't cover them up either. I stand before you and listen to you tell me: I love you, and I also love every one of your creases. They are all beautiful, like the curled up ends of flower petals in their appearance; or as the tiered layers upon layers are on a jellyfish's skirt. </p> <p>But I am old-fashioned. I can't even be laid out flat on the ground. All over my body are creases and I won't cover them up either. I stand before you and listen to you tell me: I love you, and I also love every one of your creases. They are all beautiful, like the curled up ends of flower petals in their appearance; or as the tiered layers upon layers are on a jellyfish's skirt. </p>
<p>You can see it, too, right, on the opposite bank of the river. Or you've waited for when I've not been paying attention and fixed your gaze on it. When you do, is the look in your eyes tender? Will you thank it from bringing me? You should thank it. That dead her, that dead me.</p>  <p>You can see it, too, right, on the opposite bank of the river. Or youve waited for when Ive not been paying attention and fixed your gaze on it. When you do, is the look in your eyes tender? Will you thank it for bringing me? You should thank it. That dead her, that dead me.</p>
<p>Or perhaps you can't see it. Or perhaps in your eyes, I too am brand new, so new I still have dew hanging off me. In your world, I am only for the purpose of you.</p> <p>Or perhaps you can't see it. Or perhaps in your eyes, I too am brand new, so new I still have dew hanging off me. In your world, I am only for the purpose of you.</p>
<p>I turn my head back and look at it. I don't look at it often at all. The better your are the more I am unable to take myself away to look at it. Sometime I am really upset and annoyed - I worry that it will be lonely. </p>  <p>I turn my head back and look at it. I dont look at it often at all. The better you are the more I am unable to take myself away to look at it. Sometimes I am really upset and annoyed I worry that it will be lonely. </p>
<p>I talking nonsense, I am the one who is lonely, more like it. It no longer has feeling - sweetness, bitterness, sourness...she will no longer have feeling, she's tasted it all, she took them with her to die. All manner of things in the past she has experienced. Each of her scars will no longer hurt. She doesn't even have a single mortal wound, you know, none of them caused her mortal wounds, crying won't be lethal...she died in my life, I saw you and then I opened my eyes and smiled. She died in the past, died in some distant stories, died in another beginning.</p>  <p>I am talking nonsense, I am the one who is lonely, more like it. It no longer has feeling sweetness, bitterness, sournessshe will no longer have feeling, shes tasted it all, she took them with her to die. All manner of things in the past she has experienced. Each of her scars will no longer hurt. She doesnt even have a single mortal wound, you know, none of them caused her mortal wounds, crying wont be lethalshe died in my life, I saw you and then I opened my eyes and smiled. She died in the past, died in some distant stories, died in another beginning.</p>
<p>Sometimes I want to roll down a cliff hugging you and roll into the river to drown together and be two corpses hugged together. Death is never parting, death is never ending, death is that good a thing. But to think that I would not be able to quarrel with you, joke with you, or share candy with you again…I am again unwilling to die. Only by living can lots and lots of stuff be done. Life repeats itself and happiness longs for repetition.</p> <p>Sometimes I want to roll down a cliff hugging you and roll into the river to drown together and be two corpses hugged together. Death is never parting, death is never ending, death is that good a thing. But to think that I would not be able to quarrel with you, joke with you, or share candy with you again…I am again unwilling to die. Only by living can lots and lots of stuff be done. Life repeats itself and happiness longs for repetition.</p>
<p>Sometimes I gather up those soft stories that happen to her and show you. You always laugh as you read them. You don't care at all, nor are you drawn in by them, because those stories are repetitions without anything special about them. They all bundle up laughter and tears, and all wrinkly and tired, come to a <span style="color: #ff6600;">sudden</span> stop. </p>  <p>Sometimes I gather up those soft stories that happened to her and show you. You always laugh as you read them. You dont care at all, nor are you drawn in by them, because those stories are repetitions without anything special about them. They all bundle up laughter and tears, and all wrinkly and tired, come to a <span style="color: #ff6600;">sudden</span> stop. </p>
<p>And stories that suddenly stop are not good at all. So sometime when you've finished reading you ask me, </p>  <p>And stories that suddenly stop are not good at all. So sometimes when youve finished reading you ask me, </p>
<p>- And then?</p> <p>- And then?</p>
<p>- And then you appeared.</p> <p>- And then you appeared.</p>
<p>There isn't anymore.</p> <p>There isn't anymore.</p>

Note: Spaces may be added to comparison text to allow better line wrapping.

About julien.leyre

French-Australian writer, educator, sinophile. Any question? Contact julien@marcopoloproject.org