在我的印象中,北京的冬天总是一个样子,灰蒙蒙的天空如同厚厚的棉被捂住整个城市,每一次呼吸干冷的空气就像刀片划过鼻腔透着微微的疼。一直以来我很害怕冬天,仿佛候鸟已经飞了很远,爱变成无休的期待;冰冷的早晨,路上停留着寂默的阳光,匆匆走过的时候不能发现你的面容;就在路上幻想我们的重逢。每当在这低沉的时刻,唯有一样东西可以带给我一丝的安全感,那便是火锅。相比于一 In my mind, the winter in Beijing is always the same. The gray sky is like a thick quilt covering the whole city. Every time the dry air is exhaled, it is like a slight pain in the blade across the nose. I’ve been scared of winter for a long time, as if the migrant bird had already flown far, and love turned into endless anticipation. On the icy morning, there was silent sunshine on the road, and you could not find your face in a hurry. Our reunion. Whenever in this low moment, only one thing can give me a sense of security, it is hot pot. Compared to one