偶然间,我不知从哪里翻出了记忆,竟想不到,有了这么多的故事。故事构成一个个泡泡,在空中失了重的漂泊。我试图挽留它们,伸手一捞却成了破碎的梦。残留的碎片零落到地板上,显得格外憔悴,瘦弱。我拾起碎片,拼凑,拼凑,拼凑成一个不属于我的记忆。他望着我,我却不敢面对。为何我的熟悉,却成了生疏?望着窗外还不打盹的细雨,淅淅沥沥的点点滴滴。 Occasionally, I do not know where to turn the memory, unexpectedly, with so many stories. The story constitutes a bubble, lost in the air heavy drifting. I tried to retain them, reaching for a fishing has become a broken dream. The remaining fragments fell to the floor, it is particularly gaunt, thin. I picked up the pieces, put together, pieced together, pieced together into a memory that does not belong to me. He looked at me, but I could not face it. Why is my acquaintance, has become strange? Looking out the window do not nap the drizzle, pattered bit by bit.