当我走进自己阔别已久的房间,我首先注意到的是一只死去的蛾子。不是蝴蝶。没有漂亮的翅膀,没有优美的触须,在墙的角落里,它早已干枯的双翅紧贴着小小的身躯,仿佛在最后临死的时刻感觉羞耻(我如此固执地认为是这种感觉),或者,对于一生中所遭受的苦难和偶遇的幸福,它曾很努力地在头脑中搜索,却只能挑出几个并不清晰的画面来放映。窗子,能带来光明,却在夜里,透明的玻璃隔离了另一个世界,将它围困在这个充满了孤独和恐惧的房子,照出它弱小的身躯 When I walked into my long-awaited room, the first thing I noticed was a dead moth. Not a butterfly There are no beautiful wings and no beautiful tentacles. In the corner of the wall, its already withered wings cling to the little body as if feeling ashamed at the moment of death (I so stubbornly feel it) Or, for the sufferings and occasional happiness he suffered during his lifetime, it has worked hard to search in the mind but can only screen out a few ambiguous pictures. The window, which brings light, but at night, the transparent glass isolates another world, besieging it in a house full of loneliness and fear, photographing its weaker body