一九月份,我回到了曾经的高中,重读高三。新的教学楼新的班级新的同学,自己坐在其中显得那么突兀。在这里没有人知道我的故事,他们把我定义为一位复读生,一位老姑娘。我对这一切熟视无睹,在学校独来独往,没有一个人值得我倾诉。傍晚回家时,母亲递给我几瓶药和一瓶薰 In September, I returned to a former high school and reread the third year. New classroom new class new classmates, sitting in which they seem so abrupt. No one here knows my story, they define me as a repeat student, an old girl. I turned a blind eye to all this, lonely in school, no one deserves to talk to me. When I came home in the evening, my mother handed me a few bottles of medicine and a bottle of smoked