一病,这个女巫般的字眼,犹如一个惯于隐身术的魔法师,潜藏在暗影深处,却又经常张牙舞爪、咆哮而出。时而像一个少年,步履轻盈,时而又若一个白发苍苍的老年,步履蹒跚。失望、期盼、绝望、死亡与阴影是它的孪生兄弟,循环往复,它们纠缠交织在一起,五味杂陈。在喧嚣的都市,寂寥的乡村,那些“病历”像长了脚,不由自主间从内心深处涌出来。黑白病历本上,病 A sick, witch-like words, like a magician accustomed to stealth, hidden in the depths of the shadow, but often claws, roared out. Sometimes like a teenager, walking light, and sometimes if a gray-haired old age, hobbled. Disappointment, hope, despair, death and shadow are its twin brothers, cyclical and reciprocating, entangled and intertwined. In the bustle of the city, lonely rural areas, those “medical records” are like long feet, involuntarily pouring from the bottom of their hearts. Black and white medical records, disease