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你走的时候,是一个冬天的早晨,刚刚落下一场清雪。雪并不大,细细的,碎碎的,飘到人的脸上、手上转眼就融化成冰凉的水点儿,像小鸟的眼泪。但雪没有停下来,不紧不慢地落着,渐渐地覆盖房顶、路面,覆盖了你要经过的那条小路 听到你出事的消息前,我曾用中年人特有的那种目光注视过这场雪,但看过了就过了,除了一丝若隐若现的担忧外,并没有更多的想法。我的担忧来自对我自身安全的考虑。因为那时我也乘坐在一辆颠簸的客车上。车厢里很拥挤,不太透明的车窗外懒懒散散地飘落着雪花,像随车摇晃着的乘车人一样无聊。我们表情木然地缩着肩、抱着膀,把自己的一切都交给了那位素不相识的驾驶员和那辆半旧的客车。
When you go, it is a winter morning, just fell a clear snow. The snow is not large, thin, broken, floated to the human face, hands blink of an eye melting into cold water, like a bird’s tears. But the snow did not stop, unhurriedly fall, and gradually cover the roof, the road, covering the path you want to go through before I heard the news of your accident, I used that kind of attention of middle-aged man After this snow, but had seen it, in addition to a trace of looming concerns, and no more thoughts. My concern comes from my own safety considerations. Because then I was riding in a bumpy bus. The car is very crowded, not transparent window lazily floating snow falling like a rickshaw riders as boring. Our expressions narrowed our shoulders and clutched our shoulders, leaving everything to our stranger driver and the half-bus.