与·此·同·时

　　It was April again. At dusk we shut the window and in the schoolyard across the way the children yelled. The dirty sheets. The broken cistern. The swallows. An unhung painting. The D’A. We’ve all grown a bit more hair and our skin has gone darker. We promised ourselves. That it would never happen again. But we still have a lot more mistakes to make. In the meantime…