hair
through
my
hands,
that
never
seen
dark
spells
crackle
down
your
wand
and
set
your
face
alight.
suppose
next
you'll
tell
me
that
you
don't
scream
in
the
back
of
your
throat
at
climax.
suppose
next
you'll
tell
me
that
never
took
you
over
that
old
oak
coffee
table
when
aberforth
was
out.
不过，再说一遍，我是一个被关在牢房裏度过余生的人，没有魔杖，慢慢走向疯狂的疯子。我的记忆能当真吗？我想现在你会告诉我，我在夜晚裏用来安慰自己的那些记忆从未发生过——我的手指从未轻拂过你的发丝，黑魔法咒语的光芒从未从你的魔杖释放并照亮你的脸颊。接下来，你就会矢口否认你高潮时喉咙间的尖叫，而我也从未趁着阿不福思外出的时候把你压在那张旧的橡木咖啡桌上。
go
ahead.
mock
me
with
transfiguration
texts,
now
that
can
never
do
magic
again.
look
down
your
long
nose
at
me.
who
broke
it,
anyway,
old
friend
someone
else
who
attempted
to
empty
out
all
the
hot
air
you're
full
of
继续啊。用你的变形课本嘲笑我吧，现在我再也不能使用魔法了。从你那长鼻子上往下看着我吧——是谁给它打折的，我的老朋友？别的什么不想听你那些夸夸其谈的人吗？