her voice is as on point live as it is on recording, and so is this song. 田馥甄 – live performance of 渺小 最繁華的城市為何帶來最寂寞的北極熊 最純潔的孩子如何走過最骯髒的垃圾場 最混亂的回憶永遠讓我想起最專注的一剎那 最醜陋的世界偶然讓我看到最美麗的一首詩 原來最暗的天空總有最閃爍的星星 為喚不回的 為做不到的 為還在活的我和你 原來最大的懷疑總有最渺小的自己 向蝴蝶知更 向肉體靈魂 向芸芸眾生 我該說感謝 還是對不起 最暴烈的流徙難道為了成就最温柔的小團圓 最簡單的渴望從來不想證明最荒謬的大時代 原來最暗的天空總有最閃爍的星星 為受過傷的 為犯過錯的 為還在活的我和你 原來最大的懷疑總有最渺小的自己 向黄土灰塵 向肉體靈魂 向芸芸眾生 我該說感謝 還是對不起 宇宙洪荒再沈默總有最閃爍的星星 某一天消失 某一天誕生 有一天寬恕我和你 原來最大的懷疑總有最渺小的自己 向恩怨愛恨 向肉體靈魂 向芸芸眾生 我該說感謝 再說對不起 based off a poem by Wislawa Szymborska Under One Small Star My apologies to chance for calling it necessity. My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken, after all. Please, don’t be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due. May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade. My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second. My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first. Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home. Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger. I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths. I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for …
Her: the sharpening of building silhouettes the blurry of how we met. when exactly was that? the morning sky told me dawn is the colour of people meeting the first time explained the receding colour of black tinged with city light and day shine in the guise of sleepless nights. perhaps in every encounter the only question awake in the dark of us was how to make the sun rise. the sky told me this: every mo(u)rning starts with ‘hi.’ Him:
Her: padded feet soft socks pulled to the knee pulled to the chin pulled to the chest squeeze curl drops of condensation observe from outside and discuss with each other the exquisite quiver of parted lips breathing. i run fingers through my hair to drag you out of me, splay you flat on my lap in creaming milk breath. pretend you are looking so i can lean my head pretty, blink restlessness at flustered snowflakes losing to the heat of my skin. pretend for you. Him:
Him: Her: a still new darkness growing at the roots, perhaps your thoughts i see. are you dreaming of shutter speed blink art. and me? of the way years have built muscle into fingertips and vessels under eyelids, the way pixels cannot recreate the exact shade of dark the sun has made your skin, the way you pause to listen for my voice to carry miles to where you are, i know. if I lean closer to the screen my posture will write itself into a greeting card. if I exhale with my heart the candle in front of you will shiver in sentiment. now how to make my (bubblewrap stamplick post) thoughts yours?
Her: a method of shading. a way to texture. a volumizing effect. draw my mind crisscrossed with remembering impressions. overlap the pressure of my skin with the snap of your breath in the whorl of a lipped kiss and a bruising thumbprint. the buildings crease like your elbows and round in the shoulder blades on your back. i sketch you everywhere in my eyes, cross-hatch my heart, and hope it comes to life. Him: