那时候刚好下着雨。柏油路面湿冷冷的,还闪烁着青、黄、红颜色的灯火。我们就在骑楼下躲雨,看绿色的邮筒孤独地站在街的对面。我白色风衣的大口袋里有一封要寄给南部的母亲的信。樱子说她可以撑伞过去帮我寄信。我默默点头。“谁叫我们只带来一把小伞哪。”她微笑着说,一面撑起伞,准备过马路帮我寄信。从她伞骨渗下来的小雨点,溅在我的眼镜玻璃上。随着一阵拔尖的刹车声,樱子的一生轻轻地飞了起来。缓缓地,飘落在湿冷的街面上,好像一只夜晚的蝴蝶。 It was raining Pavement wet and cold, but also flashing green, yellow, red color lights. We sheltered under the arcades, looking at the green mailbox stand alone across the street. In the big pocket of my white windbreaker there is a letter to be sent to the southern mother. Sakurako said she could hold an umbrella in the past to help me send a letter. I nod in silence. “Who told us to bring only a little umbrella? ” She said with a smile, holding an umbrella, ready to cross the street to help me send a letter. A raindrop infiltrated from her rib, splashed on my glasses. With a wave of top-notch brakes, Sakura’s life flew softly. Slowly, falling in the wet street, like a butterfly at night.