She kept them safe in small glass vessels that shimmered faintly when held to the light, as if the breath inside them still remembered being alive.
2025.11.10
珍行走在醒與忘之間的邊界。每一夜，她穿越半記憶的夢廊，收集那些飄散太遠的聲音。它們以微弱的呢喃而來——忏悔的殘句、搖籃曲的餘韻、枕邊最後的低語。她將它們安放於細小的玻璃瓶中，瓶內微光閃爍，如同氣息仍記得自身的溫度。
她的使命並非復原遺失，而是照看那份靜默的延續。那些聲音並不尋求回返——它們只渴望被承認。有的訴說被日常掩埋的歡愉；有的重覆已忘了因由的悲傷。珍從不評斷，她只是傾聽，讓自己的脈搏慢慢與那些無形的韻律同步。有時，瓶子會一同嗡鳴，珍感受到那共振在胸口迴響——是那些曾經存在的合唱。那一刻，她與被收集的聲音融為一體，記起自己也曾是被低語召喚的存在。
黎明時，她釋放一只瓶子，讓它歸於霧中。其餘的，她留在身邊，因為她知道，記憶不是負擔，而是一種照護——對那些仍在迴響中的聲音的溫柔守候。
Jane walked the threshold between waking and forgetting. Each night, she wandered through the corridors of half-remembered dreams, gathering voices that had drifted too far from their owners. They came to her as faint murmurs — fragments of confessions, lullabies, last words whispered into pillows. She kept them safe in small glass vessels that shimmered faintly when held to the light, as if the breath inside them still remembered being alive.
Her work was not to restore what was lost, but to tend to its quiet persistence. The voices, she believed, did not seek return — only recognition. Some spoke of joy buried under decades of routine; others recounted sorrow so old it had forgotten its cause. Jane never judged. She only listened, her own pulse slowing to match the rhythm of the unseen.
There were nights when the vessels would hum in unison, and Jane would feel their resonance in her chest — a polyphony of those who once were. Then, for a brief moment, the boundary between herself and the gathered would blur, and she would remember that she too was a voice once whispered into existence.
At dawn, she released one vessel into the mist, letting it find its way back to silence. The rest she kept, knowing that remembering was not a burden but a form of care — an act of tending to the echoes that refused to fade.
