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那天一位做护士的朋友拿着一摞足有半尺厚的诗稿来找我,她让我帮忙把那些稿子整理一下,并求我说哪怕是托熟人也要想办法至少发表一首。我翻看诗稿,洁白的纸上一行行清秀的字迹跃入眼帘,那直白的吟唱、乐观的憧憬和无拘无束的美丽的幻想,让我感觉到一股奔放火热的青春气息扑面而来。我笑着问:“这是你热恋的时候写的吧?”她沉吟半晌,摇摇头说:“这是一个病人写的。她前天死了。”我的心不禁一沉。
On that day, a friend who was a nurse came to me with a half-inch poem draft. She asked me to help tidy up the manuscripts and asked me to say that even acquaintances must think of ways to make at least one. When I looked at the poems, the clean lines on the white paper jumped into sight. The straightforward singing, the optimism, and the unrestricted and beautiful illusions made me feel a rush of youthfulness. I smiled and asked, “Is this what you wrote when you were in love?” She said, “She was indifferent, and she shook her head and said,” This is a patient. She died the day before yesterday. "My heart sinks.