温热的季节,夏日里,风吹过的午后,藏着我们的故事,那样熟悉。总想借用余秋雨先生的一席话:“一灯如豆,尘世苍茫,断鸿声里苦雨冷。悟,此刻无关风月;痛,不为柔情为浮生。”确实,抹着厚重的尘埃,“浮生”一词,轻寥数笔,却叹尽多少岁月,借着清风把酒相送,太多的诗颂,醉生梦死也空。无醉今朝。我们,扮演着学生的角色,也只体味着肤浅的世俗。漫长的雨季编织起一张张含泪的网,眉头上已不再是歌颂的文字。曾 Warm season, summer, wind blowing afternoon, hiding our story, so familiar. Always want to borrow the words of Mr. Yu Qiuyu: “A lamp, such as beans, the world is vast, off the sound of bitter and cold .Wen, now has nothing to do with the moon; pain, not for tenderness for the living.” “Indeed, wipe thick dust, ”Floating life," the word light few pen, but sigh how many years, by the breeze to send wine, too much poetry, drunk dreams are empty. No drunk at this moment. We, acting as students, also have a taste of superficial worldliness. A long rainy season woven from a tear network, brow is no longer a tribute to the text. Once