生命里,一些缱绻,无论素净,还是喧哗,都已经被岁月赋予了清新的味道,一些闲词,或清新,或淡雅,总会在某一个回眸的时刻醉了流年,濡湿了柔软的心,冥冥之中,我们沿着呼唤的风声,终于在堆满落花的秋里,再次重逢,念在天涯,心在咫尺,我相信,一米阳光,才是我们最好的距离。缘起是诗,缘离是画,这些关于岁月,关于记忆的章节,终会被时光搁置在无法触及的红尘之外, Life, some stupid, whether superficial or noisy, have been given by the years of fresh taste, some free words, or fresh, or elegant, always drunk at a time of reminiscence, wet soft heart, Somewhere, we followed the wind of call, and finally in the fall filled with falling, meet again, read in the horizon, the heart in hand, I believe that one meter of sunshine, is our best distance. The origin of poetry, fate is painting, these years, the memory of the chapter will eventually be time shelved beyond the reach of red dust,