On a rainy night

It was raining in midnight, or it might not be midnight at all, but sometime close to the daybreak. Then I woke up, and heard the sound of the rain. The rain was shaky, shaking, a little bit of clumpy and looks hesitated, like a nervous cat. It was hard for me to describe the rain by light or heavy, they just crash on the window and the ground, determinedly and devoutly, creating a sound that is not beautiful enough. They are stumbling like infants learning how to walk. I walked close to the window, and saw the house across the street, they looked mysterious inside the darkness. I had never been to that house before, and I could only guess that it was also a dormitory, and this sense of obscure and uncertain gives it the fascination. Our thoughts are always filling the things we omit. It’s like every time I got up in the early morning, I tried to recall and memorize my dreams, but most have been forgotten and all I get are small symbols inside the dreams. I remembered last night I dreamed about an old friend that I’ve not seen for a long time, and a red and big theater. I don’t know the connections between them, or maybe they come from two different dreams, like two characters in two different plays, only when one character leaves the stage the other one will appear. But what in my mind was about watching a play with my friend or being two characters with my friend in a broadly defined play, maybe that’s the desire of completeness in my unconsciousness. The rain becomes lighter, but it was still dark outside. The rain was sparse, and very kind, like a lullaby. But even a lullaby cannot make me fall into sleep again, so I was still sitting aside my table embarrassedly. Maybe my life is never complete and consistent, just like the rains. When I look back, time will be scattered in ruins. I can pick up a piece of it and recall a time in the past, but I can never put it back together into a puzzle. I can think of the same dark, rainy day when I skipped class with her in the classroom to look at the paintings that are swayed in the wind, but were scared away by the thunderstorm; I also think of how I felt when I saw my room surrounding with SAT and TOEFL materials. I remembered my cat patting his paws on the keyboard, trying to mimic me to type. But I can only think of these things at this moment, so they are the only things that really belongs to me now. Maybe I would have recalled a different set of things in a different mental state, but that was already a different moment of me. My memory is like love, if I can't understand what is deep in a person's eyes, then I can never really understand her, but I can never understand what is hidden. In other words, maybe I'm just living in pieces. The rain started to become slower after a long time, they always disappear before everyone was awake.

                              雨夜

午夜的时候下起了雨，或者不是午夜，而是邻近凌晨的什么时候。我在这时醒来，听到了雨的声音。雨很摇晃，颤抖，笨拙不灵活，犹豫，像是一只紧张的小猫。我很难用轻盈来形容这场雨，但是它也不是很沉重，雨滴只是很笃定和虔诚地装在窗边和路上，发出一种不具什么美感的打击声，磕磕绊绊，像是在学习走路的婴儿。我起身走到窗边，看到远处的房子在夜色里暗淡的有一种神秘感。我从来没有去过那间房子，我也只能大概猜测那应该也是一个宿舍楼，可是就是这种虚虚实实的感觉给了它一种神秘的魅力。我们的思想总是在填充我们所省略的东西。就像每天清晨我试图回忆梦中的场景，大多数都已经消失殆尽，只剩下很多微小的意象，比如说一位许久未见的朋友和一场剧院的演出。我不知道这中间有什么联系，或许他们本来就来自不同的梦，就像剧院相连的两场戏中的人物，一人离开另一人才悄悄出现。可是我脑海中想的却是和那位朋友看戏，或者和他一同在某个可以引申成戏剧的场景中饰演两个不同的角色, 大概这就是我们潜意识对于完整性的渴望吧。雨变得小了一些，天色却还是黑暗，它稀稀落落，很平和，像是一款摇篮曲。可是此时此刻就算是摇篮曲也不能让我安然入睡，我只好还局促的坐着。或许我从来没有完整的存在过，就像雨一样。当我回首往事，时间就会变成散落一地的废墟。我可以捡起其中的某个碎片，然后回忆起过去的时期，但是我永远也不能够把它还原成一个拼图。我想起我在同样黑暗的雨天和她一同在教室逃课去看被风吹得摇晃的画，但是被雷声吓跑；我也想起我看到满屋子的sat和托福的材料的时候那一瞬间的手足无措；我想起了我的猫用爪子在键盘上拍了拍去，企图模仿我打字。但是我这一瞬间只能想到这些事情，所以一瞬间也只有这些是真正属于我的。或许我在另一种状态，会回忆起另一组事，但是这已经是另一个瞬间的我了。我的记忆就像爱情，如果我不能去理解一个人眼睛深处的东西，那我就永远也无法真正理解她，但是我恰恰永远不可能理解那些隐藏的东西。换句话说，或许我只是碎片般的活着。过了很久雨变得越来越慢，这里的雨总是在早上前消失不见。