窗外是树,是楼。窗里是教室。教室里是我。我在教室里安静地写着字,隐约还可以听到外边鸟的鸣叫。这是写作课。教室里有无数个我在平静地低着头,写作。然而我可以清楚地听见,在我手背上的静脉里,脖子上的动脉里,在我全身突突跳动着的血管里,每时每刻都有另一个歇斯底里的我在叫 It is a tree outside the window and it is a building. The window is a classroom. It is me in the classroom. I quietly wrote words in the classroom, and vaguely heard the birds outside. This is a writing class. There are countless classrooms where I calmly bow my head and write. However, I can clearly hear that in the veins on the back of my hands, in the arteries on my neck, and in the blood vessels where my body is pulsating suddenly, there is another hysterical me at every moment.