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一滴水,早已凝结成一块冰。它不再爱了,不再流淌,也不再呈现灿烂的表情,火焰漠然熄灭。在来时的路上,这滴水它曾努力盛开,它曾对一朵花表白,它曾跪在春风的面前,述说丰满的金秋。现在,它不再爱了。这滴水,它的血液里正孕育着一个冬天,冷漠棱角分明。是对这朵花失望了么?是水路坎坷,希望泯灭了么?在这个秋天,蝶儿们远去。这滴水,它或许只是在土地上,小憩一会儿。在忧伤的岁月,梳理一下生活的枝节。或许,正准备好,再一次把自己点燃。
A drop of water, already condensed into a piece of ice. It is no longer love, no longer flowing, no longer show a brilliant expression, the flame indifferently extinguished. On its way to this drip it was endeavoring in full bloom. It used to confess a flower. It had kneel before the spring breeze and spoke of the plump autumn. Now it’s no longer in love. This drip, its blood is pregnant with a winter, indifferent edges and corners. Is it disappointed with this flower? Is the waterway rough, hope 泯 destroy it? In this autumn, butterflies are away. This drop of water, it may only be in the land, take a nap. In the sad years, sort out the branches of life. Perhaps, ready to fire again.