那是一个静谧的午后,我坐在窗边看一本厚重的旧书,午后红茶散发着浓郁的香甜,那只陪伴多年的金毛犬懒洋洋地趴在脚边,阳光把轮廓晒成金黄,混合着这慵懒的时光,酿成萦绕于心的记忆。这是一个人的记忆,像清晨接在指尖的一颗露珠,闻到它的芬芳,但抓不住,道不清。阅读就是这样的,它只是一种说不清又道不明的感觉。 It was a quiet afternoon, I sat by the window to see a thick old book, black tea exudes a rich sweet afternoon, the golden retriever dog accompanied only for years lying lounging on the ground, the sun tanning the outline of the golden, mixed This lazy time, the memory of lingering hearts. This is a person’s memory, like a dew in the morning at your fingertips, smell its fragrance, but can not catch, not clear. Reading is like this, it is just a kind of unspoken feeling unspoken.