Some words arrive fractured, their meanings blurred at the edges.
2026.02.12
珍是一名被禁止詞語的製圖師。她不在國家之間畫出邊界；她描繪無法被說出的事物之邊緣。在一個光線如同被稀釋的牛奶般落下的安靜房間裡，她研究那些徘徊在表達之外的語言碎片。她周圍的空氣感覺濃稠，彷彿覆蓋著一層未被表達思想的細微殘留物。她緩慢地工作，意識到她所做的每一個標記都可能揭示或隱藏。
有些日子，某些音節比其他的燃燒得更明亮。它們壓迫著她的視野，堅持要成形。珍小心地舉起她的手，在一個無形的表面上描繪它們的輪廓。她感覺語言具有重量，會落在皮膚上並留下印痕。有些詞語以破碎的形式到來，它們的意義在邊緣處模糊。其他的則完整地出現，但在其表面之下帶著顫動，彷彿因克制而顫抖。作為一名製圖師，珍理解抹除也是一種繪製。她研究聲音之間的空隙，研究一句話崩解之後膨脹的沉默。在那些間隔之中，她找到座標——情感凝結成幾乎可見之物的點。她不試圖修正那些扭曲。相反地，她忠實地記錄它們，相信扭曲本身就是一種真理的形式。
當她的工作完成時，那張地圖並不引導旅人前往目的地。它引導他們向內。它揭示語言如何同時遮蔽與暴露，揭示身份不僅由被宣告之物所描繪，也由被保留之物所描繪。珍後退一步，知道她的製圖尚未完成。總會有另一個被禁止的詞語，另一條顫抖的邊界，在半光之中等待被描繪。
Jane is a cartographer of forbidden words. She does not draw borders between countries; she traces the edges of what cannot be spoken. In a quiet room where light falls like diluted milk, she studies fragments of language that hover just beyond articulation. The air around her feels thick, as if coated with a fine residue of unexpressed thoughts. She works slowly, aware that every mark she makes may either reveal or conceal.
There are days when certain syllables burn brighter than others. They press against her vision, insisting on form. Jane lifts her hands carefully, mapping their contours across an invisible surface. She senses that language has weight, that it settles upon the skin and leaves impressions. Some words arrive fractured, their meanings blurred at the edges. Others appear whole but carry a tremor beneath their surface, as though trembling from restraint.
As a cartographer, Jane understands that erasure is also a kind of drawing. She studies the gaps between sounds, the silence that swells after a sentence collapses. In those intervals she finds coordinates—points where emotion condenses into something almost visible. She does not attempt to correct the distortions. Instead, she records them faithfully, believing that distortion itself is a form of truth.
When her work is complete, the map does not guide travelers to destinations. It guides them inward. It reveals how language can veil and expose at once, how identity is traced not only by what is declared but by what is withheld. Jane steps back, knowing that her cartography is unfinished. There will always be another forbidden word, another trembling border, waiting to be traced in the half-light.
