the last book.

I want it to be the last book I read before departure. 

It is, you know, in many sense too heavy for me to carry abroad. But I'll bring One Hundred Years of Solitude with me and keep it close so that I could always revisit the little goldfishes, the fluttering yellow butterflies, the melancholic whores and the feverish town of Macondo wherever I go. 

Speaking of Macondo, my imagination of it comes very close to Trinidad in Cuba, which I'm heading to in a few weeks' time. The first instant I saw its pictures online I was certain the town resembled somewhere I knew. And it's Macondo, unmistakably Macondo, which is like a secret hometown of mine that never existed in time.

距離與時間重疊的一點

我喜歡的那些他們，或近或遠，總有一種不可踰越的距離。距離又是陌生，又是親密。他們分散在世界不同的角落，而我總是數算著時差，一而再再而三的執念相信並且盼望所謂愛情能一手把河漢牽成一條幼細的絲線，從此端牽到彼岸，在一念之間，牢牢的連繫著。沒想到路在歧途，分別以後便成永遠。我知道距離與時間重疊的一點，便是你我相遇之時。但小小的一點，季候風一來便吹散了。相遇以後，還得相守。要兩雙腿走在一起，路才能繼續下去。