记忆,之于我们,是早喜三月的清风吹来的明友间的甜甜的嬉笑声;记忆,之于我们,是三伏暴风雨之夜电闪雷鸣间我与你咸涩的泪水;记忆,之于我们,是在黄澄澄的柿子树下细不可闻的低头私语;记忆,之于我们,是在腊月间独自站在苍白的月亮下望着寒风中独自划过的流星。——题记 Memories, to us, are the sweet laughter of the Mingyous who came to the breeze blowing in March; the memories, to us, are the tears of tears between the thunderstorms of the three-hour storm and me; memory It is to us that it is under the yellow persimmon tree that can’t be heard under the persimmon tree. The memory that belongs to us is the meteor that stands alone in the cold wind under the pale moon during the twelfth lunar month. --Inscription