有人坐在那里，很久了，不记得第几次会议，名字与议题一同褪色，只剩钟声在墙上轻响，如潮，不再漫上岸。话语来了又走，像褶皱的纸，像风中飘起的同一面横幅，每年都说“我们在治理”，却无人起身。
笔沉默地躺着，纸空着，问题挂在空中，像一盏不肯熄灭的灯，不是为了照亮，只是惯于被亮着。制度已学会如何听从自身的节奏，像一段永不跳出的乐段，温顺，循环，稳稳地绕在原地。
真正的行动从不是话语的回响，而是某人，在说完之后，悄悄把手伸进沉睡的结构里，拧了一下，那微小但真实的螺丝。
Someone has been sitting there—for a long time. The meetings blur, names fade with the agendas, only the ticking on the wall remains, like tides that no longer touch the shore. Words come and go, creased like old paper, repeating like a banner caught in wind—each year it says, we are governing, yet no one moves.
Pens lie still. Paper remains blank. Problems hang like a light left on not to see, but because forgetting to turn it off became routine. The system listens only to its own rhythm now, a looped refrain, obedient, stable, turning in place.
True action is never the echo of speech, but someone, after all the talking, quietly reaching into the sleeping structure to turn one small, real screw.