Since they'd never met before, they're sure
that there'd been nothing between them.
But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways—
perhaps they've passed each other a million times?

I want to ask them
if they don't remember—
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?
a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver?
but I know the answer.
No, they don't remember

They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.

Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn't read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood's thicket?

There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through

外面的天很阴沉。刚才下着雨，路上是莫名的行人。很多人来又去，除了自己不知道他们要去向何处。坐在我对面的是设计罗，他的电脑里放着年轻时我曾常听的音乐。

呐喊和真诚。一杯青春的岁月。

一杯涩的苦的烈的酸的醉人的酣畅的岁月。

前几天，和某人在qq上聊天的时候。突然就发现，哦，原来很多年过去了。

很多年，以前校园里的一幕一幕，更小的时候和朋友在一起，落魄的一群人；

很多年，在外面漂泊的岁月，认识的人和事，自己的挫折和际遇；