有時候站在人群中
有種不完整感受
渴望你溫柔

有時候因為你沉默
有種不安的軟弱
朝你伸出手

兩人愛情的途中
多少探索的困惑
模糊了初想的結果

但好不容易愛了
過程都是我們的
我多么在乎你的快不快樂

愛情是一種直覺的舉動
在彼此凝望眼中找著線索
給多少 得多少
在感情的口袋中
我只愿為你都掏空

愛情是一種直覺的選擇
所以心頭難免感受那么多
微笑了 流淚了
看你一舉一動
我愿變作
覆蓋著你的天空

in jc2, when it was first released with daniel chan's bonne nuit en aurore album, i fell in love with this never-really-popularised song, partly because of the image evoked by these two lines

在感情的口袋中
我只愿為你都掏空

i thought to myself that chinese is such a beautiful language--so much, behind two very simple words; and just like this, it manages to describe quite aptly what otherwise would probably have taken english several to do--i would empty my heart for you (umm, see, very awkward expression somemore, right).

and so from then on, i always thought that 掏空 is such a wonderful expression; it brings across so much.

it's like, imagine, a container, a pocket, a purse, a bag, a heart, something, something you'd use to keep, or to contain, things, things you'd wanna retain, that might be of some importance, that might mean something, anything, to you. and then, and then, one day, one fine day, you just stick your hand inside, into it, and then, one by one, one by one, you take them out, one by one, one by one, emptying it of its contents, laying them out, on the table, in the open. and then, and then, just to be sure, that container, that pocket, that purse, that bag, that heart, that something... just to be sure, just to be sure, you turn it in.side.out, you turn it inside out, pouring anything else that might be left inside, out, so that nothing, nothing is left. nothing is left. it has been emptied, utterly emptied.

this is what 掏空 means, to me.



there's this sense of dejavu or something, which makes me suspect that, perhaps i had written this before. but, never.you--never.i.mind, because, even had i, each point of time at which i write about the same thing, i write differently, the style is different, the context is different, you (re)construct memory upon memory, even nostalgia will be something new each time.

dear diary, i have missed, i have missed writing like this, writing like an emo.mad.freak, like the feel-too-much-over-nothing emo.mad.freak that i am. not of accounts of real matters that have actually happened in the day or the week or whatever, but of random thoughts based on nothing concrete, that just happen to float by me now and then and on and off, but nothing is to say that they aren't "real matters" in their own right.

have you missed me too? or would you rather this i have never returned?