“What can I hold you with?”

我用什么才能留住你？

“I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets,the moon of the jagged suburbs.”

我给你瘦落的街道、绝望的落日、荒郊的月亮。

“I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at the lonely moon.”

我给你一个久久地望着孤月的人的悲哀。

……

半明半昧的阴影，橘黄色的灯光在他身上投了层深浅不一的阴影，五官融在疏浅的光线中，有一种不真实的清俊。

他有点鼻音的清淡，松松懒懒，尾音音调微扬卷着英伦的腔调，下压再低低的缠上来，足够撩拨得人耳尖发麻，渐渐发烫。

只是这漫长的暧昧缱绻，并未被任何人听闻。

但床侧青年丝毫不在意。

字句依旧在静寂空间的晕开蔓延——

“I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never been loyal.”

我给你一个从未有过信仰的人的忠诚。

“I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved somehow -the central heart,”

我给你我设法保全的我自己的核心，

“that deals not in words, traffics not with dreams,”

不营字造句，不和梦交易，

“and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.”

不被时间、欢乐和逆境触动的核心。

“I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at sunset, years before you were born.”

我给你早在你出生前多年的一个傍晚看到的一朵黄玫瑰的记忆。

“I offer you explanation of yourself,”

我给你关于你生命的诠释,

“theories about yourself,”

关于你自己的理论,

“authentic and surprising news of yourself.”

你的真实而惊人的存在。

“I can give you my loneliness,”

我给你我的寂寞，

“my darkness,”

我的黑暗,

“the hunger of my heart;”

我心的饥渴，

“I am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.”

我试图用困惑、危险、失败来打动你。

……

最后一丝光被黑暗吞噬。

青年抬眼轻眨，黑发微垂，继而由坐到站念完最后一句诗歌，将掖好被角的手收回。