很多年之后某个风雨交加或者阳光明媚的下午,当我再一次回想起我第一次拿起笔,将心里幻想的那个故事用拙劣稚嫩的笔法郑重其事地写下来的时刻,我想我仍然会为之激动得战栗。在童年,每当我被燥热的阳光唤醒却发现屋子里空无一人的时候,我就意识到我的父母又去辛苦劳作了。他们如此温柔地爱着我,如水一般。可是他们太温柔,为了不被淹死在海底,我逃到家的城堡里面。城堡很大,大到足以容纳下一个斯德哥尔摩。 Many years later, after a stormy or sunny afternoon, when I recall the first time I took up the pen and wrote the fantastical story with solemn brushwork, I think I still Will be thrilling for trembling. At a young age, whenever I was awakened by the hot sun and found empty in the room, I realized that my parents went to work hard. They love me so gently, like water. But they are too gentle, in order not to be drowned in the sea, I fled to the castle inside. The castle is large enough to accommodate the next Stockholm.