夢之檔案師 The Dream Archivist

Jane moved carefully, knowing that each recollection, though faint, could still cut through the silence if handled too roughly.

2025.10.13

珍行走於半記憶的夢境長廊。她的每一步，都攪動起他人記憶中殘留的色彩——一縷低語、一絲氣味、一聲嘆息，被折疊於透明的時間層裡。她不是收藏物件的人，而是收藏情感的編織者，那些介於睡與醒之間、太深刻而無法忘卻的情緒。

有時，她停留在並非屬於自己的記憶前——那裡有一張被失落勾勒的臉，或一個太遲才說出的字。她不試圖修復消逝，而是讓消逝自己訴說。因為她深信，遺忘也是一種溫柔的照料——連消失也值得被溫柔對待。

當一天結束時，珍坐在她的夢之檔案館前，讓最後一個夢飄入她的掌心。那光芒閃爍一下，溫暖又金黃，然後沉入她的肌膚。外界永遠不會知道她攜帶著什麼，但她所觸碰的一切，都閃爍著微微的記憶餘光——彷彿她自己，也成了一場仍在記憶我們的夢。

Jane wandered through the fragile corridors of half-remembered dreams. Each step she took stirred fragments of color that once belonged to someone’s memory — a whisper, a scent, a sigh folded within translucent layers of time. She was not a collector of things, but of emotions suspended between sleep and waking, traces of people who once felt too deeply to forget.

Her archive had no shelves, only drifting panes of light where recollections shimmered. A child’s laughter echoed like glass bells, and beside it, the tremor of an unspoken goodbye. Jane moved carefully, knowing that each recollection, though faint, could still cut through the silence if handled too roughly. She breathed through them like wind through silk, letting each dissolve and reappear, changing hue with her pulse.

Sometimes, she lingered before a memory that was not hers — a face outlined in the dimness of loss, or a word uttered too late. She did not try to fix what was fading; instead, she allowed the fading to speak. For in her quiet work, she believed that forgetting was another form of care — that even disappearance deserved tenderness.

When the day ended, Jane sat by her archive and let the last dream drift into her open palms. It flickered once, warm and golden, before sinking into her skin. The world outside would never know what she carried, yet everything she touched shimmered faintly with the afterglow of memory — as though she herself had become a dream, softly remembering us all.

My Name is Jane.