初春的夜，是那样的静道、幽深…昏黄的台灯下，我一如往日地面对着雪白的稿纸，心里想写点东西，可灵感缥缈，似乎没什么可写。此刻，阵阵困意袭来，我读了操酸胀的眼睛，悻悻地揪扯着头发在斗室里转圈圈。一圈、两圈……冥冥之中想到自己多年来在写作这条拥挤不堪的路上苦苦? Early spring night, is that way the quiet, deep ... dim yellow table lamp, I, as in the past, facing the white manuscript paper, my heart wanted to write something, inspirational, it seems nothing to write. At the moment, bursts of sleepy hit, I read the bloated eyes, sternly pulling the hair in a circle around the bucket room. One lap, two laps ... ... Somewhere in the middle of thinking over the years writing in this crowded road hard?