笔尖,它是那样小小的方寸,那样微不足道的存在,对于我,它不过是那规整的方格和密密麻麻的数字间机械移动的一小片银色,那样微不足道。然而我总能看到一些伏案的身影,他们在孤灯下挺直了脊背,执笔深思,过了太久,久到大团的墨在纸上晕染开,他们仍旧未写一字,只是长叹。我看到中年的辛弃疾,早已不复金戈铁马的少年意气,长久的失意让 The nib, which is so small and small, is insignificant. For me, it is just a small piece of silver mechanically moving between the regular square and the dense numbers. It is insignificant. However, I can always see some of the shadows. They stand upright under the solitary lights and write their thoughts deeply. After a long time, the ink of the big group of people fades on paper. They still haven’t written a word, but they just sigh. . I saw the middle-aged Xin Qiji. It has long been no longer the youthful spirit of Jin Ge Tiema.