父亲,一个熟悉的名字,一个温馨的字眼,一个港湾般可以依靠的宁静栖所,一个天空般可以投入的广阔怀抱,而对于刘墉,仅九岁就失去父亲的刘墉来说,更多的意味或许是回忆的甜蜜,暗夜的隐痛,灵魂的伤痕,是欲说还休、欲语泪流的无奈,是利剑穿心、无语凝噎的痛楚。 Father, a familiar name, a warm word, a quiet habitat that can be counted on like a harbor, a vast embrace of the sky, and Liu Ye, Liu Ye, who lost his father when she was only nine years old, means more. Maybe it is the sweetness of memories, the secret pain of the night, the wounds of the soul, the helplessness of wanting to speak still, tears of desire, and the pain of the sword through the heart and the silence.