最早的梦想,早已飘泊在记忆的长河中,不知所踪。童年早已停留在90年代的某个午后,有一种怅然,像是从家园的墙根下挖出童年的宝盒,打开锈迹斑斑的盖子,如同八音盒关不住的弦音奏起追忆的空调子、发霉的布纽扣、描画着英雄鬼怪的小纸片、五彩的玻璃弹珠,是什么时候埋下的? The earliest dreams have long been wandering in the long river of memory and disappeared. Childhood has already stayed in the early afternoon of the 1990s. There is a sense of turbulence, such as digging out the treasure box of childhood from the roots of the homeland, opening a rusty cover, and playing music like a music string with an unreliable string. When was the moldy buttons, the heroes’ ghost papers, and the colorful glass marbles buried?