消逝之面的低語者 The Whisperer of Vanishing Faces

She walked through forests where trees leaned like old men with secrets, past rivers that carried fragments of forgotten conversations.

2025.03.07

今天，她站在一面風化的石牆前，指尖輕撫其表面。風中帶著呢喃，她側耳傾聽。一個名字，半隱半現，在空氣中縈繞。這種情況時常發生。她從未真正看清過他們的模樣，只能捕捉他們曾經存在的痕跡——被時光磨圓的笑聲，被歲月溫柔稀釋的悲傷。

她從隨身的布包裡取出一本筆記本，裡面沒有文字，只有影子。指尖輕輕貼在紙上，讓記憶落定——一抹模糊的存在，一道柔化的輪廓，一絲未竟的低語。

「珍……」風聲輕喚。

她轉身，本以為只會對上空無一物的靜謐。卻見那幅模糊的肖像微微晃動，一位女子在時間的面紗後露出微笑，彷彿遙遠的記憶正在甦醒。她的色彩忽明忽暗，過去與現在交織成一幅未完成的畫。

珍回以微笑。她明白了。

有些面孔從不真正消失，只是等待著被記起。

Jane was never meant to exist in sharp lines. She belonged to the spaces in between—the softened edges of memory, the blurred echoes of a name spoken too many years ago. She was a collector of lost faces, a whisperer of the unseen.

She walked through forests where trees leaned like old men with secrets, past rivers that carried fragments of forgotten conversations. And in the quiet spaces, where time hesitated, she found them—the faded ones. Faces that once belonged to the world but had slipped through its fingers like mist at dawn.

Today, she stood before a weathered stone wall, her fingers tracing its surface. The wind carried a murmur, and she listened. A name, half-formed, lingered in the air. It was always like this. She never saw them clearly, only the essence of who they had been—laughter worn at the edges, sorrow softened by time.

She reached into her satchel and pulled out her notebook. Not of words, but of shadows. Pressing her fingertips to the page, she let the memory settle—a smudge of presence, a softened outline, a whisper of what was.

"Jane," the wind called.

She turned, expecting nothing but the hush of the past. Instead, the portrait before her shifted. A woman, veiled in time, smiled with the remnants of recognition. The colors of her being flickered, the past and present entwining in an unfinished composition.

Jane smiled back. She understood.

Some faces never vanish. They simply wait for someone to remember.

My name is Jane.