三月的头一天,我终于发觉我该写些什么了。空白的日记,我小心地一页一页翻过,数着小心翼翼的脚印。蹂躏的纸张声在空气中混浊地响着,众多记忆灰飞在沙漠里,湮灭在泥沼中,已经消失不见。翻到我觉得差不多该结束的地方,停下,在下面写:这一摊平淡的浊水,要凝成一条冰柱了。我坐在电脑前,看着屏幕在发呆,外面夜色如水。跳跃的文字在繁杂地张望,可能在预示着什么,我想我是这样安慰着自己的。母亲房里的灯亮着,我听见她略显沙哑的声音隔着扇门传了过来,睡吧,明天还要上课。我说,好的,我就睡。然后,我站起身关了灯继续发呆。十分钟后我提起杯子,倒了热水。我看着电脑被热气熏得起了一层水雾,闪动着的苍白的文字变得越来越模糊。它们就要消失,然后我对自己说,会的,只要轻轻的点击,一切 On the first day of March, I finally realized what I should write. In the blank diary, I carefully turned page by page and counted the careful footprints. The buzzing sound of paper buzzed in the air, and many memories flew into the desert and disappeared in the quagmire and disappeared. Turn to where I think it should be almost over, stop and write below: This flat, muddy water will be condensed into an icicle. I sat in front of the computer, watching the screen in a daze, outside the night water. The text of the jump is looking around in a complicated way, which may indicate something. I think I comforted myself so much. The lamp in the mother’s room was lit, and I heard her husky voice passing across the door, sleeping, and going to class tomorrow. I said, OK, I will sleep. Then I stood up and turned off the lights and went in a trance. Ten minutes later I lifted my cup and poured hot water. I watched the computer get smoked up by the heat, and the pulsating pale text became more and more blurred. They are going to disappear, and then I say to myself, yes, just click, everything