长的是磨难，短的是人生。
The long one is suffering while the short one is life.
——《利比亚的黄昏》
——Twilight in Libya
雨是不需要水的，鱼是属于水的。
Rain doesn't need water. Fish belong to water.
沙漏如时间般簌簌流动。记忆像一张受了潮的唱片，走了音的旋律，散发着樟脑淡淡的香气，湮没了整个下午。雨天，鱼儿总是很高兴的。但是，雨总是很少的。
The hourglass flows like time. The memory is like a record that has been affected by the tide, the melody that has gone, sending out the light fragrance of camphor, obliterating the whole afternoon. On rainy days, the fish are always happy. However, there is always little rain.
雨天是一个没有主角的故事。无尽的哭诉，缠绵的情节，淡淡的描绘，湿湿的心情。它像一个传说，似乎很遥远，很纯净。雨里的阳光亦很美。没有燥热，没有庸懒，只剩下悠悠的温存。
Rainy day is a story without a protagonist. Endless crying, lingering plot, light description, wet mood. It's like a legend, it seems very far away, very pure. The sunshine in the rain is also beautiful. There is no dry heat, no indolence, only long warmth.
鱼儿爱水，水中的鱼儿总与雨一样地欢快。我看见它们在笑，笑得喘不过气来。充满着笑声的水泡，晃晃悠悠地浮上来，然后“哧”的一声化成了无数银铃般的碎片。接下来，便是它们的世界。
Fish love water. Fish in water are always as happy as rain. I saw them laughing and couldn't breathe. The bubble full of laughter floats up unsteadily, and then the sound of "Chi" turns into countless pieces like silver bells. Next, their world.
鱼儿喜欢雨，它是它的影子，苍白的水里总归是它的家。雨每次都来到它的身边，从白云的眼里滴落到它身旁，每次都是。雨在空中飞着，急切地想飞到鱼的身边。
Fish like rain, it is its shadow, pale water is its home. Rain comes to its side every time, drips to its side from the white cloud's eye, every time. The rain is flying in the air, eager to fly to the fish.
雨总是有着历经沧桑的温柔，雨总是像色彩斑斓的一滩水。所以湿腻腻的温柔和着微熏的酒红，显出落落的寂寞。上帝仍保持着一贯沉默。
Rain always has experienced the vicissitudes of gentle, rain is always like a colorful beach of water. So wet and greasy gentle and slightly smoked wine red, showing the fall of loneliness. God remained silent.
那沉没的绯红，淹没了整个水面，那荡漾的激情，仿佛还沉浸在透明的夜里。古老的《圣经》上，有它凝固的褶皱，每一页都有相同的脸，梦中的鱼儿在低语：没有秘密，没有真相。
The sinking crimson, submerged the whole water, the rippling passion, as if still immersed in a transparent night. In the ancient Bible, there are its frozen folds, each page has the same face, and the fish in the dream whisper: no secret, no truth.
加西亚·马尔克斯在《百年孤独》中写：登上一列永不停息的火车，窗外的风景变成一条条线，拉长了拖在岁月之后。于是，银灰色的静谧，沉睡的呼吸，死亡的气息，将被唤醒。霓红的冷光洞穿这最无常的梦境，却经不起天长地久地等待。
Garcia Marquez wrote in "a hundred years of solitude": boarded a never-ending train, the scenery outside the window became a line, stretching the drag after the years. Then, the silver gray silence, the sleeping breath, the breath of death, will be awakened. Neon red cold light penetrates the most impermanent dream, but it can't stand to wait forever.
鱼儿喜欢像哈姆雷特一样问天问地，生存还是死亡。然而它正离开这最旺盛的季节。沉思的鱼儿被眼前的一抹亮白惊醒，于是太阳不再从雅典的神殿里燃起。一切都将深入骨髓，一夜逝去。
Like Hamlet, fish like to ask whether they live or die. But it is leaving the most exuberant season. The contemplative fish was awakened by a flash of brightness in front of him, so the sun no longer lit from the temple of Athens. Everything will go deep into the bone marrow and pass away overnight.
鱼离不开雨。
Fish cannot live without rain.
