母亲的思念,是一盏马灯,拴在瓦檐下。我数三下,哦,不对,我只需再数两下。你便将成为过去。过去了就过去了,爱也好恨也罢,其实没什么大不了。活着就好。蚂蚁与一枚雪花,昆虫与一枚冬夜,过客与一枚心事。我虚构了自己,也被另一个自己所虚构。云朵又浓又苦。每一朵云都是你的恋爱,每一朵云都是你的亲戚。一杯咖啡醒了,你坐在那里,不出声。黑越深,光就会越亮。时光的庄稼遍地生长,她们在大地的怀里,每一株都是羞愧, Mother’s thoughts, is a lantern, tied under the eave. I count three times, oh, no, I just need to count a few times. You will be the past. The past has passed, love hate worth mentioning, in fact, no big deal. Just like Ants and a snowflake, insects and a winter night, passing and a mind. I fictitious myself, but also by another one of their own fiction. Clouds are thick and bitter. Every cloud is your love, every cloud is your relative. A cup of coffee woke up, you sit there, silent. The darker the black, the brighter the light will be. Time crops grow everywhere, they are in the arms of the earth, each strain is ashamed,