墙上的时钟还在滴答,时光在耳边缓缓地流淌,经久不息,逐渐勾勒你的模样,可我却总是模模糊糊,望不清你的样子。该是什么模样呢?是春风温软四月天的窈窕淑女,还是风度翩翩执画笔的谦谦君子?我望向远方,细细思量,构思你的轮廓,远处呈现的一条路逐渐匿了踪迹。是否在你走过的路上太多孤独,是否你的远方,除了遥远,一无所有,无尽沧桑,饱含风霜。你的模样,是否拥有一双明亮却又寂寥的眼睛,沉默,不断沉 The clock on the wall is ticking, the time slowly flowing in the ear, prolonged, gradual outline of your appearance, but I always vague, hopeless clear your look. What is the appearance of it? Is it a soft spring April Fair Lady, or graceful brush pen gentleman? I look into the distance, think carefully, the outline of your outline, showing a way in the distance gradually hiding traces. Is it too much loneliness on your way, whether it is far away from you, nothing but distant, full of breeze. Your appearance, whether it has a pair of bright but lonely eyes, silence, continue to sink