逝去的时光,无论留下怎样的斑驳痕迹,终将成为一种回忆。往事如烟,或盘旋于脑海,或萦绕于梦中,感觉近在咫尺,伸手却又遥不可及。那些散发着淡淡馨香,光鲜而惨淡、模糊又清晰的故事,时不时会拨动心灵深处那根弦。难得浮生半日闲。回到城南久别的老院,打开窗户,阳光即刻洒满屋子,深吸一口新鲜空气,信手拿起一本尘封的书,阵风吹过,悄然掀起泛黄的页面,那些夹在书中的蝴蝶、牵牛花、树叶以及一些方方正正的小 The passing time, no matter what traces of mottling left, will eventually become a memory. Past events such as smoke, or hovering in my mind, or linger in the dream, feeling close at hand, but reach out reach. Those exudes a touch of sweet, bright and bleak, blurred and clear story, from time to time will dial the soul of the string. Rare free to live half idle. Back to the south of the city for a long absence, open the windows, the sun immediately spilled the room, take a deep breath of fresh air, the letter picked up a dusty book, gusts, quietly set off the yellow pages, those caught in the book butterfly , Morning glory, leaves and some small square