I grew up among stones. Before I had words for it, I was learning the difference between the right one and the almost-right.
我在石头中间长大。还没有名字可叫时,已在辨认合适与将近合适。
He chose the stones. She designed what I wore. One gave me the standard. The other, the statement.
他选石头。她设计我戴的。一个给了我标准,另一个给了宣言。
I spent years helping other people feel beautiful. That beauty faded by evening. I wanted something that lasts: the piece you set down at night and still recognize as yours twenty years on.
我多年成全他人的美。那种美到了晚上便散了。我想要能留下来的:夜里放下,二十年后仍认得是自己的那一件。
I didn't leave because that life was wrong. I left because it wasn't mine.
我离开,不是因为那生活错了。是因为它不是我的。
Not better dressed. More yourself.
不是穿得更好。而是更像自己。