I told her about how your gifts are always somehow a burden. You know I’ll keep them, don’t you, all this junk offloaded over the course of these years, it’s moved with me across the continent and across the city, taller piles each time, folders and envelopes and things scrawled with HB pencil at various degrees.

But maybe this time I can finally part with something, fortunate doubles, two gifts that i already have. One about a month older, given as a free gift at a liquid nitrogen frozen ice cream parlour (fashionable sunflower or more fashionable morning glory?), and the other, just a day or two younger than yours, when I bought the same issue of a literary bi-monthly not recognising where those ripped pages had come from. I’ll daisy chain your generousity, hoarder friend, no matter how i cringe inside when he talks about change. and it wasn’t even the change which we feared, just the way he said it. haven’t you told me many times to let go?

它发生时，空气中出现了叫做天气的变化，而此时低飞的子弹仍然被叫做朋友，痛苦的时间被分解为叫日子的间隔。在那时，太阳仍然恩宠这世界的事物，让它们将偶尔的阴影交托给世界的表面。每天都有些东西掉落在我身上，我的温度改变着。温度是另一种提醒你的方式，告诉你你只是自己，而不是别的什么；它让你和周围的一切分开。那些温度的变化被叫做情绪，它们有着好玩的外国名字，但我已经记不得它们了。对于发生在我身体之外的任何事情我都没有记忆能力。我记不得该如何准确地说这个短语：“我抱歉。”

This was when changes in the air were known as weather, when low-flying bullets were still called friends, and periods of suffering were broken up into intervals called days. Back then, the sun still honored the world’s objects by letting them contribute the occasional shadow to the surface of the world. Everyday something fell on me and my temperature changed. Temperature was another way to remind you that you were only yourself and nothing else; it let you feel apart from everything around you. These changes of temperatures were called moods and they had interesting foreign names, but I no longer recall them. I have no memory for anything that happens outside my body.

I cannot recall the precise words for the phrase: “I’m sorry.”

本∙马可斯 Ben Marcus，from that literary bi-monthly, on the first, future of love（但汉松翻译）…