所以说,不仅是诗人,我们每一个人内心深处,都有一种缝绻的温柔,有时藏匿而未能触及,有时悄然流淌而无声无息。生活如诗,大抵就是如此。点一盏台灯,翻开手边的书,偏安一隅的世界是静谧的。银白的灯光不像晕黄的烛火一般温暖,却有月光倾泻的柔和。窗帘是拉上的,就更显得这一方天地似乎独属于我一个。窗外有嘀嗒嘀嗒的雨声,小雨绵绵,带着江南特有的痴缠与多情。此时闭上眼,一股子灵 Therefore, not only the poets, but also each of us, have a gentle, sewed seam, hidden from time to time, and sometimes quietly flowing and silent. Life is like poetry, probably it is. Point a lamp, opened the book at hand, partial corner of the world is quiet. Silver light is not as bright as yellow candlelight general warm, but there is gentle moonlight. Curtains are pulled on, it seems even more on this side of the world seems to belong to me alone. There are ticking ticking rain outside the window, drizzle, with the unique Jiangnan entangled and passionate. At this point close your eyes, a sub-Ling