窗外,雨。小伙伴们刚刚才走,天空突然就下起了不小的雨。窗外淅沥淅沥地下着,吧嗒吧嗒地打在玻璃上。天色是一贯到底的灰白,地面色彩斑驳,空气中充满了咸的味道。远方的山悄悄地隐去,对面的楼宇被模糊了一层雨帘,玻璃上雨水一串串滑过,带走尘埃。暗地听着窗外的雨声,伙伴的问话仍然在耳畔回响。十二年,有多少梦?我站在窗前,凝视,执笔。执笔,安静地在小学二年级教室里写着东西。 Window, rain. Small partners just go, the sky suddenly started a big rain. Out of the window patter, patted on the glass. The sky is always in the end of gray, mottled ground, the air is full of salty taste. The distant mountain quietly disappeared, across the building was blown a layer of rain curtains, glass, a string of rain across the slip, take away the dust. Secretly listening to the rain outside the window, the partner’s questioning still echoed in the ear. Twelve years, how many dreams? I stood in the window, staring, writing. Writing, quietly in the second grade classroom writing something.