《写给女儿未来的信》作者：孟伟
一封来自春秋的信，
纸张泛着木黄素的沉积，
文字已磨损成
怦然心动过后的骸骨。
于是，我把它折成纸飞机，
递给站在童年边界的你。
去吧，飞向你表达的航道。
——
时间在门框上刻录。
你抬升的标高，我逐一
备份进诗行。
而那些无法量度的相伴，
拒绝被任何语法降维——
崭新的笑容，不该磨损成
磨损的比喻。
于是我决定，用一首系统诗
来续写这封未竟的信。
我转动笔尖的滚轴，
飞墨成一行行属于我们的四维暗语——
那些一起玩过的新词焊接游戏，
是你自己发明的。
青春会把你带进死胡同，
而你会自己找到跳出墙外指令。
十年后，当你把这张纸
从旧物箱底抽出来，
沿着我折叠了十年深夜的折痕，
轻轻展开——
那只纸飞机最初的折角，
还在。
——
一封来自未来的信——
当那些陌生的隐喻
在你语言的航道里，与塔台完成验证——
我希望你只为此刻骄傲：
不是因为它准确，
而是它曾如此固执地，
用一种未被批准的语言，
爱你。
对我来说，
想截屏的童年，在一声“长大”里滑走。
English version:
A Letter to My Daughter, in a Future Tense
by Mengwei
A letter from the Spring and Autumn era,
its paper stained with lignin deposits,
its words worn down to
the bones of a heartbeat, long after.
So I fold it into a paper airplane,
hand it to you standing at the edge of childhood.
Go. Fly into the channel of your own voice.
---
Time engraves itself on the doorframe.
Each mark of your rising height, I back up,
line by line, into these poems.
So I decide: to finish this unfinished letter
in the language of system poetry.
I spin the ballpoint's axis,
ink flying into lines of our four-dimensional code—
word-welding games we played together.
You invented them yourself.
Youth will lead you into dead ends,
but you'll find your own way out,
over the wall.
Ten years from now, when you pull this paper
from the bottom of an old box,
and trace the crease where I folded
ten years of late nights,
and gently open it—
the original corner of that paper airplane,
still there.
---
A letter from a future tense—
when those strange metaphors
in the channel of your voice
complete their verification with the tower—
I hope your pride, in that moment, is only this:
not that it was accurate,
but that it loved you
so stubbornly,
in a language never approved.
For me,
the childhood I wanted to screenshot
swipes away
in a single sound: "Dad."