“与我在一起，你感到快乐吗？等了我这么久，你开心吗？”
你没有回答我的问题，只是伸手抚摸我的双唇和脸庞。我能够感受到你在抚摸我的脸，你能够触摸到我的眼泪。
“我是如此爱你！”
时光流逝，我一直努力想象着你正在做什么。我知道你就在外的某个地方，我知道注定与我相随的人一定在某个地方，只是需要等待。我知道，如果必要的话，我可以一直等你。我爱你！
在母亲去世的时候，我独自一人处理所有的事情。我与母亲相依为命，这二十多年来，我们在分离中度过了大部分时光。一次过圣诞节的时候，她问我什么时候带个女朋友回家，我无言以对。在那晚接下来的时间里，我甚至不敢正视她的双眼。我是多么希望你能够去看望一下我的母亲啊！她的儿子有这样一个出色的女朋友，她会为此甚感自豪的。那将会是多么美妙啊！
然而，当我看着母亲的灵柩缓缓地被放进墓穴时，自己的身边并没有一个人相伴。我没能带一个女孩子给母亲看，我仍然独自一人。
那晚，我哭了。因为你不在我的身边，你不能抱着我，告诉我一切都会好的，所以我哭了。我无法握住你的手，或是亲吻你的双唇，这一切都无法实现。一直以来，我都没有，或许永远也无法梦想成真。
每天早晨，我看着镜中的自己，眼睛周围的皱纹越来越深，头发也越来越稀少，发际开始后移。我希望你仍然爱我，仍然能够看着我的脸庞微笑。
护士说道：“我想看你笑一笑。”
我笑不出来，我的心很痛。
护士警告说：“如果你不对我笑，我就会关掉电视和电灯。”我厌恶她，她总是让我做一些愚蠢的事情，比如微笑和大笑。对于生活中的悲伤，她永远不会理解。
让我一个人待一会儿吧。
“好了，没有电视节目了。晚安，先生。”她关掉电灯，关上门后就出去了。一时间，黑暗笼罩了这间狭小的卧室，外面传来了她走过走廊的脚步声。在脚步声消失之后，我听到的只有来自遥远的内心深处的回音。一滴眼泪滑落到枕头上，然后消失得无影无踪，我的世界变得越来越寂静。
我一个人。
黑暗中只有我一个人。
爱人，你为什么迟迟不肯来到我的身边？
我在等你。
我在等你啊！
心灵小语
爱你的人，总能触动你的心，安慰你的灵魂，让你相信忠贞不渝的爱情，并能与你一同回忆往昔，憧憬明天。可是，完美的爱情是需要双方共同努力的，如果缺少了其中任何一方，再甜美的爱情也会有枯萎的一天。
记忆填空
1. I didn’t know____you lived, but I knew that if you could, you’d play____me. We’d play catch, or hide-and-seek, or____it was you wanted to play.
2. At night I would____in bed and think about you. I wondered__ you had done that day. Did you like your__ ? What was your best subject? I always pretended that you’d be good____English.
3. The footsteps fade, and then all I can hear is the distant____of my heart. A____slowly finds its way to my pillowcase and dies. My world becomes__ .
佳句翻译
1. 我在脑海中描绘着这样的画面，我握着你的手，看着你的手掌上细微的纹路。
译__________________________
2. 我与母亲相依为命，这二十多年来，我们在分离中度过了大部分时光。
译__________________________
3. 黑暗笼罩了这间狭小的卧室。
译__________________________
短语应用
1. I didn’t want our lives to suffer because I couldn’t provide for us.
provide for：为……作准备；供养；供给
造________________________
2. I couldn’t make myself stretch out or sleep in the middle.
stretch out：伸直身子（或四肢）躺（在某处）
造________________________
至 爱
Moments of Love
佚名 / Anonymous
By David S. Pisetsky, M. D.
When I first saw her, she was walking across the med-school quad. I stood motionless as if stunned, following her with my eyes. She is the one, I said to myself.
It was the first day of school. When I asked a classmate about her, he told me to forget it. She has a boyfriend, he said.
A few months later I heard she’d ended her relationship. But I waited at least half a year to ask for a date. When I telephoned her dormitory and asked nervously for her, I transposed the syllables of her first and last names into ludicrous garble. “Dinner on Saturday?” I proposed, embarrassed and expecting rejection. “I would enjoy that,” she answered, sounding pleased.
On Saturday I greeted her at the dorm and was again entranced by her loveliness. I had made reservations at a restaurant 30 miles away. I lost my way and drove aimlessly on rural roads for an hour as my exasperation mounted. She remained good-humored-happy, she said, to tour villages whose histories she had read about.
We never located the restaurant, and then almost ran out of gas. We finally ate at 10 p.m., hamburgers and fries at a dinner. In her floral dress, with her straight blond hair and classic features, she stood out among the local kids.
Back at school, I was ready to apologize for the evening. But I felt her warm hand take mine, and then she quickly kissed my cheek. “Thank you for a wonderful evening,” she said softly. Before I comprehended what had happened, she disappeared into the dormitory.
How many times have there been moments like that, moments of such encompassing grace and love that I doubted their actuality? Moments like the day of our marriage, when on a crisp Sunday morning on the Pacific coast she entered the church on her father’s arm and I gazed down the aisle at my soon-to-be wife. Or the moments when our two children were born and her face became radiant as she emerged from the unreachable realm of labor into exultation.
But October 15, 1993, was Different. That day, we arose at 5 a. m., having a hard slept. How can you rest when a blade will soon sever flesh so dear? She kissed both of our children as they slept, but they never stirred or said “Good luck” or “I love you, Mommy.” In the hospital, after we signed the papers, I watched her change into a faded cotton gown and two pairs of socks, as if the worst injury that day would be the chill of the operating room.
She cried in my arms and said she didn’t want the surgery. I held her hand as an I. V. was inserted into her arm. In a few seconds her tears stopped and she closed those eyes that had always seemed so clever and clear, but now looked so fearful.
Feeling frantic and disconnected I kissed her, and then she was wheeled away through the unforgiving doors of the operating suite. I spent the day in the waiting room polishing a manuscript whose only significance was its power to distract.
