然后空气就完美了。他向白色的大地下降的速度放慢了。跌倒变成了一种休息的能力——就像释放的呼吸相信生命一样。再往下，雪下得很大，他的鞋子碰到了一片混乱的缓慢的新星，当他跌倒的时候，这些新星似乎正在上升。来自每一个小学院和乡村小镇:最清澈、冰冷的思想之花，但温柔。接着，他以为朋友们在谈论他的到来，他们的屋顶都一个个退了下来。他看到他的朋友们生活在一种他们从未大声说出来的孤独之中。奇怪的是，他觉得这很好。事实上，在这些时刻，他所向往的世界似乎是随意的。他一直都在想这个吗? A life where he belonged, having lived with himself always, as a secret friend. A few may have seen him then. In evidence: the stopped dots of children & dogs, sudden weave of a car-- acquaintances, circling up into the adventure they imagined. They saw him drop through the line breaks and preciousness of art down to the lake which openly awaited him. Here the thin green ice allowed him in. Some ran, and were late. These would forever imagine tragedy (endless descent, his face floating among the reeds, unrecognized), as those who imagine the silence of a guest to be mysterious, or wrong.