Each portrait she designed carried the echoes of a hundred half-remembered stories. Faces emerged and receded as if pulled by the tide of forgetfulness.
2025.06.05
在時間的長廊裡，記憶逐漸模糊，面孔變得難以辨認，珍默默地執行著她的任務——她是「朦朧的建築師」。她的工作就是構築與重塑那些看不見的身分與回憶的結構。她拿著工具——霧的畫筆、柔和的鉛筆筆觸、光的橡皮擦——在記憶的邊界之間來回穿梭。
她的工作室是一個如夢似幻的空間，牆上掛滿了若有似無的素描和淡化的影像，如同捕捉在蛛網中的夢。每一幅肖像都帶著一百個半記得的故事的迴音。那些面孔如潮水般忽隱忽現，彷彿在遺忘的波浪中漂流。珍明白這些邊界的脆弱——記得與放下之間的細微差距。某個黃昏，當天邊的光線漸漸變得朦朧時，珍偶然發現了一張幾乎消失的臉龐。那雙眼睛是一團陰影之謎，嘴角只留下一絲情感的線索。她的心隱隱作痛——或許是某段自身的倒影，或許是曾經深愛的某個人。她把手掌貼在畫布上，微弱的嗡鳴傳遍了全身。
「你是誰？」她輕聲問。
那張臉微微閃爍，仿佛試圖回答。
珍屏住呼吸，開始了她的工作。她的手指輕輕勾勒出被遺忘的輪廓。那些線條不再只是線條，而是思緒的痕跡；曲線中藏著笑聲與淚水的痕跡。那幅肖像不停地變化，每一次指尖的觸碰都讓它再次流動。她明白，每個人都是由無數經驗所構成的朦朧——再完美的形象也無法完整容納一個人的全部。
當她完成時，珍知道自己並沒有畫出那張臉的全部。但她創造了一個更深的存在：一個活著的、變動的、永不停息的模糊肖像——那是人類存在的真實脆弱。
In the corridors of time, where memories fade and faces blur, Jane worked tirelessly as the Blur Architect. Her task was to shape and reshape the unseen structures of identity and recollection. She wielded her tools — brushes of fog, strokes of soft graphite, and erasers of light — to construct and deconstruct the boundaries of memory itself.
Her workshop was an ethereal place, walls lined with sketches and etchings so faint they seemed like dreams caught in cobwebs. Each portrait she designed carried the echoes of a hundred half-remembered stories. Faces emerged and receded as if pulled by the tide of forgetfulness. Jane understood the delicacy of these thresholds, the thin line between remembering and letting go.
One evening, as the horizon turned to mist, Jane stumbled upon an old, nearly vanished face. The eyes were a puzzle of shadows, the mouth a whisper of emotion. She felt a pang of something familiar — perhaps a fragment of her own reflection, or maybe a glimpse of someone she had once loved. She pressed her palms to the canvas, and a soft hum resonated through her being.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
The face flickered, as if trying to answer.
With a trembling breath, Jane set to work, her fingers tracing the outline of the forgotten. She drew lines that were not lines but trails of thought, curves that hinted at laughter and sorrow. The portrait refused to stay still, shifting with every touch of her hand. She realized that every person was a blur of experiences — no single form could contain the essence of a life fully lived.
When she finished, Jane knew she had not captured the face perfectly. But she had created something deeper: a portrait that lived, that moved, that changed — a blur that held the fragile truth of being human.
