Eleven（十一）
eleven, my love—eight years her senior, I was
A pixie-sized soul, her charm a quiet, spellbinding buzz
Books, tunes, tech—passions she held real tight
A gentle spirit that settled deep in my night
Hand-in-hand we wandered city streets, lit up bright
Her soft voice hummin’ a melody I still recite
In that beat-up apartment, walls thin and worn
Our love bloomed loud—ain’t nothing like it, sworn
She flew cross-country to meet me up north, no delay
Love as our gas—we grindin’ hard, day by day
Her pen spun stories, a gift you couldn’t ignore
Cig in her hand, that subtle, bittersweet allure
Tunes filled our days, her singin’ a golden thread
Our life together—a tapestry we thought’d never shed
But as the years rolled on, our paths started to fray
Left me driftin’ in a black-and-white haze
Eleven, Eleven—my love for you still burns hot
Those good old days—a flame that ain’t never gonna rot
That beat-up place, her melodies, our tangled bond
Now I’m adrift in an endless, lonely pond
If I could rewind time’s unforgivin’ flow
I’d hold you close, make our love forever glow
But now it’s just a faded dream, a memory’s low
My world’s empty—no your warmth, just a sad-ass show
No more her hum in the dawn’s soft light
No more our fire burnin’ through the night
Cig’s faint smoke, coffee’s stale scent
Ghosts that stick to me—wherever I went
Alone in my room, coffee’s bitter, smoke thick
Memories of Eleven wrap my heart real quick
This love’s a piece of my soul—ain’t never leavin’
Yearnin’ for a spark to light up our old meanin’
In this modern mess, our story’s a bittersweet scene
Taught me love’s high, and the weight of its string
致Eleven，时光中永不褪色的侧影：
这世界仍按照你离开时的节奏运转——街灯在固定时间亮起，咖啡凉到第三口开始发苦，清晨的雾气依旧偏爱缠绕窗棂。只是我的生活，从此缺了一角能接住月光的弧度。
我总在旧吉他里找你的声音。那些你随口哼出的旋律，比任何录下的唱片都更顽固地生长在我的记忆纤维里，每个和弦背面都藏着你抽烟时微微眯起的眼，你写故事时咬住笔杆的侧脸，还有你把冰凉脚背贴在我小腿时，得逞般的轻笑。
我们曾像两枚误入都市的星子，在狭窄出租屋里擦出一段银河。墙薄如纸，却从未漏走半分爱意。载你而来的那个航班号，至今仍在我梦里的候机厅屏幕上反复闪烁。醒来时，掌心不是票根，却印着一小片穿越万里云海后、凝固的晚霞。
这些年我学会把思念翻译成音符，把遗憾蒸馏成诗行。烟雾还是会画出你模糊的轮廓，晨光依旧会模仿你发丝的走向。我甚至保留着你最爱的咖啡杯，杯沿那道细小裂痕，像极了我们故事戛然而止的标点。
若时光真有逆流的支流，我依然会选择在那个寻常午后，接过你递来的耳机。让那首老歌再次成为我们宇宙诞生的第一声心跳——笨拙的、滚烫的、不管不顾的。
此去经年，你仍是所有旋律里最温柔的低音部，是所有故事里未曾写尽的留白。我在这里，继续用你教我的方式爱着这个世界：认真听每阵风带来的消息，在雨迹干涸前记下它的形状，并相信所有走散的灵魂，终会在艺术的共振里重逢。
愿你途经的每处夜色，都有灯；愿你所爱的每本书，永远停在最动人的段落；愿你哼过的那些调子，偶尔也会乘着风，轻轻叩响某扇记忆的窗。
而我，会一直在这里。用弦的震颤，续写我们未完成的副歌。ø°ÍúãóѳXbbs.lianzhong.comº/^¼Ý`À