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临走的时候，已经开始下雪了。

絮状的银色雪片，斜斜地落在已经变成浅黑色的楼宇和街面上，就着玻璃上的水汽看去，车辆或人群悬浮在苍茫的雪色暗流里。天空是灰白的，丝毫没有澄澈的意味，远处的山峦没入迷蒙，宛如消失在天国彼端。

看着窗外的这些，想着过不了多久一切都会笼罩在白色下面，就像回到最初的样子，无边的荒芜寂静。这种想法和窗外的模糊景致混杂在一起，越发让人觉得幻灭：像是身处幻境一直没有醒来似的，所见的也都是只属于遥远地方的东西，唯一清晰的反倒是手指在玻璃上的冰凉触感，以及由此传达的回忆。

说是回忆，其实不过是两个小时之前的事情罢了，彼时那个女子正在车厢里等着与他告别。为了看清彼此的面容，他们不停地在两侧擦拭着车窗上的雪水和蒸气……直到列车开动，他才直起身来，退到月台上的白线后面，她最后一次擦了擦玻璃，浅浅笑了一下，唇是软的、鲜明光洁，深褐色的眸子在水汽浸润的前景下漂移，流逝于时间之河。

车厢由慢到快、溶入淡漠的雾霭，铁轨笔直、像是可以穿过时空似的延伸。远方天幕微微发白，衬着此侧灯光下的雪舞翩然，月台空旷寂静，一片荒芜。

到底还是完全不同的两个世界……他这样想着，把手放回大衣口袋，冰凉的食指提示自己回忆将从这一刻开始。曾隔着玻璃抚摸过的脸庞，轮廓近乎透明、沉浸在虚幻的水色里；他可以感觉到她的形象散落在记忆残片的深处，但眉目已经模糊不清，只有离去时闪过的一抹唇色明媚的：那种印象穿越初雪黯淡的舞蹈，深深刻在他的心里。那时他觉察到一种被压抑的失落感，散落在车窗所屏蔽的、永远离去的彼侧。即便是现在身处温暖的室内，也依然觉得真切。

那种失落是徒劳的，只是因为回忆已成为历史而已。

他戏谑地笑了笑，心里却是止不住的恍惚。再看外面的时候，雪已经渐渐小了，些许灰色的冰晶落在外侧的玻璃上，发出轻微的声响。他擦了擦窗上的水汽，就像他在月台上一直做的那样，似乎这个动作便可以让他再次看见彼侧的脸廓……回忆中的女子容颜无疑是美丽的，透过氤氲的车窗看去、犹如迷人的幻象，眉眼之间蕴藏的那种神色，映在蒸汽和雪雾的浓淡变化之后，恍若某种流泻的惆怅情愫；这些景象印在他的眼底，甫一开始便有了些许忧伤的韵味，进而让他忘却存在感而专注于印象本身：列车缓缓开动，街灯的流光映在窗后女子的脸上，那种迟滞的离逝感宛若时间流过的印痕。女子迷蒙的褐色双眸，明艳的唇，还有那一瞬间便沉郁的温婉笑容，都汇入曾在窗玻璃上流动的印象，随着列车一起趋向雪夜深处。

那时，灰暗的雪片在昏黄的灯光下飞过，落在彼刻他的身上，落在光线投射的影子上，落在看不见尽头的黑色枕木上……他又一次感到失落。他想象着眼前是可以反射时光的镜面，迷离的灯火穿过黑暗的甬道照亮了他的回忆，直到他看着雪花消融在此刻的窗前：好似暗夜精灵的宿命一般，它们幻灭、印成闪亮的泪流——像是淌在她的脸上，他的心上。

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It was snowing when her departure came.

Flocculent silver snowflakes gradually fell upon the gray buildings and roads. Seen through the vapor on the window, the vehicles or people were floating in the snowy undercurrent. Below the dim cloudy sky, the far mountains merged into the shadowiness of the fog, as if they disappeared on the other shore of the heaven.

Seeing outwards, he thought everything would soon be covered with the white, as sent back to the origin with endless silence overspread. When such an idea mixed with the blurry sceneries of the outer world, he felt more perplexed: it seemed he was always in the deep dreamland, not ever awoke, where all he had seen belonged to the great beyond of the space. The only clarity of awareness was the coldness felt by fingers when touching the glazing, along with the memory conveyed by this feeling.

The so-called memory just happened two hours ago when that girl sat in the coach, waiting to say farewell to him. In order to see the faces of each other clearly, they kept wiping the slush and vapor upon both sides of the window. Until the train began to move, he stood up and went back behind the white line of the platform. She wiped the glazing for the last time, and smiled softly, with her lips tender and brilliant. Behind the watery foreground, her brown eyes were drifting in the river of time, and faded out finally.

The train gradually put into the faint brume along the straight railroads, which stretched way into an unknown distance as if they have crossed the oceans of time. The twilight glow of the wide sky shone upon the peaceful platform, while over that, the snows were lightly dancing, with a sense of desolation surrounded.

“Ultimately we are in two different worlds”, thinking of that, he put his hands back into the overcoat, when the cold sense of the forefinger reminded him to begin reminiscing from this very moment. Once felt behind the icy window, her face immersed its sheer shape in the foggy watervapor. Not being able to discern almost all the features of her face, he could, however, felt her images spread among the deep pieces of his memories. The only luminous rememberance was the color of her lips: this impression crossed the pale dancing of the early snow, and then strongly struck his heart. At that time, he caught an unsensational feeling of depression, which fell upon the blocked other side of the pane and vanished with the westward train. Even staying in the warm room now, he could also be aware of it clearly.

That depression was virtually meaningless since it arose in vain, and solely existed for the gone memory.

He derided himself, feeling bemazed though. When he looked out again, the snow was not so heavy with few silver flakes falling upon the window frame, making some light taps. He wiped the vapor on the pane, just as what he did on the platform, as if he could see her face on the other side again by cleaning the glazing. Deep amid his memory, her face underneath the mist was so beautiful like a charming illusion. Through the snow fog and vapor floating on the windowpanes, some ethereal sorrow seems beheld in her eyes. Impressed deeply and grieved softly, he was subtly attracted by this view, furthermore, tempted to forget the feeling of existence and only focus on the impression itself: the train began to move while the flare of the streetlamp slowly flew upon her face behind the window. He felt everything was on the wane as the stream of time went by: her illusive brown eyes, her bright and kissable lips, and a mild gleam of her fair smile, all those congregated into the impression once streaming on the pane, and then went to the deep of the snowy night along with the train. Gray flakes were dancing in the dim light, falling upon his body at that time, falling upon his shadow under the streetlamp, finally, and falling upon the endless wooden railroad crossties. He felt a bit depressed again. He tried to fancy that the days were reverberated on this specular glazing where the blaze crossed the dark tunnel to illuminate his memory, when he saw the snowflakes dying upon the window here: as if the night elves shall follow their destiny of falling, the flakes withered away and left a twinkling stream of tears, as if upon her face, and upon his heart.