我是不是和那個莫名的什麼有了根本的矛盾？再也不能快樂地自言自語，就連毫無意義的廢話都不行。
我是不是眾人皆醉我獨醒，一直自我感覺良好地超然一切？不是這個，不是那個，就這樣五四三地敷衍了世界和自己。
我是不是黑暗中害怕孤獨，回頭又很淡然地說“沒關係”？總會過去，總會海闊天空。
我是不是戰戰兢兢地走著鋼索？人們羨慕，為我鼓掌叫好。人們嫉妒，怎麼還不掉下來？或者那純粹只是一個沒人在意的想象而已。
我是不是期待一首打破常規的協奏曲？像孟德爾頌那樣，不完美的完美靈魂。
我是不是無法被愛，又不敢去愛？一旦思想了這個問題，它就再也不是愛了。
I Am, Am I?
Have I fallen into some fundamental conflict with that nameless something? I can no longer happily talk to myself, not even in meaningless gibberish.
Am I the only sober one in a world intoxicated, forever feeling smugly transcendent? Not this, not that, just meaningless rambling the world and myself.
Am I the one who fears loneliness in the dark, yet turns around and calmly says, "It's okay"? It will pass. Eventually, the seas will broaden, and the skies clear.
Am I walking a tightrope, trembling with fear? People look up in envy, cheering me on. Others, consumed by jealousy, wonder, "When will she fall?" Or is it merely a figment of imagination that no one cares to notice?
Am I yearning for a concerto that breaks all conventions? Like Mendelssohn's, a perfect soul in its imperfections.
Am I unworthy of love, yet too afraid to love? The moment I intellectualize this question, it ceases to be love.
