記憶編織者 A Memory Weaver
One evening, as dusk melted into night, Jane wandered into an abandoned station. The air smelled of rust and forgotten rain. There, on the damp wall, a face emerged—soft, blurred, yet achingly familiar.
2024.01.11
珍總是能在別人只看到陰影的地方看見臉龐。在城市的靜謐角落，剝落的海報與蒙上霧氣的窗戶之間，她總會捕捉到半成形的表情，那些停留在模糊邊緣的雙眼。人們稱她為記憶編織者，但珍自己也不確定，那些記憶究竟屬於這個世界，還是僅僅屬於她。
某個黃昏，暮色漸漸吞噬夜晚，珍漫步進入一座廢棄的車站。空氣中瀰漫著鐵鏽與被遺忘的雨水氣息。就在那潮濕的牆上，一張臉浮現出來——柔和、模糊，卻又令人心痛地熟悉。彷彿牆壁輕輕地吐出一段記憶，用色彩與陰影低語著。珍靠得更近，指尖幾乎觸碰到表面。牆上的雙眼似乎微微閃爍，不是因為生命，而是因為回憶。
一個名字在她腦海邊緣浮現——不是她的，而是某個他人的。無數層次的聲音在那張臉下呢喃，交纏著半訴未盡的故事。珍明白了：這些臉龐是那些被忽視的靈魂的回聲，他們的故事隨著時間逐漸消散。她的角色不是去尋找他們，而是去傾聽，讓他們再次呼吸。
珍閉上眼睛，感受到無數未曾訴說的故事如披風般沉沉地落在她身上。她對著靜謐的空氣輕聲許下承諾——去記得、去揭露、去編織。牆上的臉龐緩緩柔和，逐漸消散在石壁之中，只留下被注視過的一絲微弱溫度。
珍轉過身，城市如同無盡的畫布在她面前延展。於是，她繼續前行，收集那些被遺忘靈魂的模糊碎片，將它們拼湊成只有她能看見的色彩。
Jane had always seen faces where others saw shadows. In the quiet corners of the city, among peeling posters and fogged-up windows, she would catch glimpses of expressions half-formed, eyes lingering just beyond focus. They called her a memory weaver, though Jane herself wasn’t sure if the memories belonged to the world or to her alone.
One evening, as dusk melted into night, Jane wandered into an abandoned station. The air smelled of rust and forgotten rain. There, on the damp wall, a face emerged—soft, blurred, yet achingly familiar. It was as if the wall itself had exhaled a memory, casting it in whispers of color and shadow. Jane moved closer, fingertips nearly brushing the surface. The eyes in the wall seemed to flicker, not with life, but with remembrance.
A name pressed at the edge of her mind—not her own, but someone else's. Layers of voices murmured beneath the face, stories tangled and half-told. Jane understood then: these faces were echoes of those who had passed unnoticed, their stories dissolving with time. Her role was not to find them, but to listen, to let them breathe again.
Closing her eyes, Jane felt the weight of countless untold stories settle around her like a cloak. She whispered a promise into the still air—to remember, to reveal, to weave. The face on the wall softened, fading into the stone, leaving behind only the faint warmth of being seen.
Jane turned away, the city stretching before her like an endless canvas. And so she walked on, gathering the blurred fragments of forgotten souls, piecing them together with colors only she could see.
