一枚钥匙躺在掌心。它是冰凉的。它很安静。插入锁孔,它可以打开一扇关闭的门。钥匙,是儿时用红线拴了挂在胸前的丁丁当当。成长中,因为粗心遗落了它,而常常受母亲的责怪。躺在掌心的这枚钥匙,不大,也不重,它普通得不能再普通,却又有点点神秘的微光隐隐闪烁其中。有人苦苦追寻能开启他人心扉的那枚钥匙,劳其一生,却终不可得;有人甘愿锁住自己的爱与自由,却把钥匙悄悄留给了别人;也 A key lies in the palm of your hand. It is cold. It is quiet. Insert a keyhole that opens a closed door. The key is the childhood Tintin dangling on his chest. Growing up, because of careless left behind, and often blamed by her mother. The key lying in the palm of the hand is not big or heavy. It can’t be normal any more, but it’s a bit of a mystical glimmer. Someone is struggling to find the key that can open the heart of others, but it is impossible to get it for the rest of their lives. Someone is willing to lock in their love and freedom, but secretly leave the key to others;