三年前,我收拾好行李打算离开北京,临行前去跟一个朋友作别。在他租的小小的房间里,我盘腿坐在木地板上,因为离别的伤感,我们谁也没说话。像是应景一般,电台里开始播放一首老歌。我们默默地听完,他问我:“在这首歌里,你最喜欢哪一句?”我几乎毫不犹豫地说:“爱总是让人哭,让人觉得不满足。”三年后,在武汉新华路体育馆,你站在高高的升降台上,被一层轻纱笼罩着,舞台上只有一束光打在你的身上,开口就是:“我的小 Three years ago, I packed my luggage to leave Beijing and set off to say goodbye to a friend before leaving. In the little room he rented, I sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, and because of the sadness of parting, none of us spoke. As usual, the radio started to play an old song. We silently listened, he asked me: ”Which one do you like the most in this song?“ I almost did not hesitate to say: ”Love always makes people cry and makes people feel unsatisfied.“ ”Three years later, at the Xinhua Road Gymnasium in Wuhan, you stood on a high lift platform and was shrouded in a layer of veil. There was only a beam of light on your stage. The opening was:" My small