That night you chose to open and to close

那个夜晚，你选择开启又合上

your long anticipated show of shows—

你那被期盼已久的终极演出——

a solo act, for no one at that stage

一场独角戏，因为在那舞台上

could match you in your sorrow, your cold rage.

无人匹敌你的悲伤、你冰冷的愤怒。

Or so I think, old love. I can’t be sure.

或许这只是我的想法，老情人。我无法确定。

You made no playbill, mailed out no brochure,

你没有制作节目单，也没有寄发小册子，

wanting no fanfare and no audience.

不想要任何鼓噪，也不需要观众。

You knew that nothing could be left to chance.

你清楚，一切都不能交给偶然掌控。

All the rehearsals I myself attended,

我本人参加过的所有彩排，

year after year, had always, always ended

年复一年，总是，总是

before the dénouement. Your hapless plot

在大结局到来之前结束。你那不幸的故事线

had lingered, tangled, tense, a tender knot

一直拖延着，缠绕着，紧张着，一个温柔的结

lodged in the throat—not only yours, but mine.

卡在喉咙里——在你的，也在我的喉咙里。

It takes my breath to feel that knot undone.

我摸索着把那个结解开，用尽了所有的气息。