这个浅春,有点微寒,三月的北方依旧温润在一片寂静洁白的世界里。独自静默在清寂的小院,任丝丝微风轻轻吹过脸颊,多少不可触及的人和事,已渐行渐远;多少不离不弃的亲情,已成追忆和怀念。记忆是流动的风景,总是在失去后才渲染出温暖的曾经。那些美好的片段,那些温馨的话语,那些无私的关爱,会在亲人离去的一瞬间浮现在脑海。一梦花开,一梦花落。 This shallow spring, a little bit cold, March North still warm in a quiet and white world. Quiet silence alone in the small courtyard, any silk breeze blowing gently on his cheek, how many can not reach people and things, has been lopsided; how many never leave of affection, has become memories and miss. Memory is a flowing landscape that always renders warm once lost. Those beautiful fragments, those warm words, those selfless love, will be in the moment of their loved ones come to mind. A dream of flowers, a dream of flowers.