放假三周后,我已不会拿笔。我握着往日得心应手的笔杆,心中某一块地方软软地塌陷了下去。我将笔舞于空中,像是抚平看不见的褶皱,清风如海浪一般吹来,吹红了湿润的眼眶,吹皱了平静的心灵。第一次用笔,是在四岁之前,用铅笔,在洁白的打印纸上描出细细的线条,远远望去好像美人的额角,一团浓的化不开的黛色,远山含翠,渔舟唱晚,朦胧,含糊,天真,以黛色始,以黛色终。铅 After three weeks of vacation, I will not take the pen. I hold the handy pen of the past, a piece of my heart softly collapsed down. I danced in the air like a smooth fold of invisible wrinkles, the breeze blowing like a sea wave, blowing red moist eyes, blowing the calm soul. The first time with a pen, before the age of four, with a pencil, on the white print paper to draw thin lines, from afar looks like the forehead of the beauty, a mass of non-open Dai color, Toyama Tsui, fishing boat singing late, hazy, vague, naive, to Dai color beginning to Dai color end. lead