法国梧桐开始飘落起黄蝶一般的叶,生命的脉络历历可见。一只白蝴蝶孤独地漫舞于残败的花间,空灵而超脱。童话里说,深秋的叶子飘于你的手中,轻舞的蝴蝶停在你肩上,你便会获得幸福。哦,幸福。挺遥远的一个词。我残忍地捏住了那可怜的白蝴蝶。轻轻一颤,也许是最后一支舞蹈,接着宁静,无声。我开始自责,不是因为一个渺小生命的逝去,而是不知自己何时变得这么阴险狠毒,不放过任何一个摧毁的机遇,来满足内心的欲望,实现所谓的“完美”! 白蝴蝶飘落的一刹那,我恍惚听到一个亘古的声音:“身体的形式并不重要,察而则‘一花一世 The sycamore leaves began to fall from the yellow leaves of the yellow butterfly. The veins of life can be seen clearly. A white butterfly dances lonely and lonely among the fragile flowers. It is ethereal and detached. The fairy tale says that the leaves of late autumn float in your hands, and the dancing butterflies rest on your shoulders, and you will be happy. Oh, happiness. Very distant word. I cruelly pinched the poor white butterfly. Gently shakes, maybe the last dance, then quiet, silent. I began to blame myself not because of the death of a small life, but because I do not know when I became so sinister and vicious, I missed any opportunity to destroy, to satisfy my inner desires and achieve what I called “perfect”! In a flash, I heard an old voice: "The form of the body is not important, but the inspection is