1每一个夜梦醒来,我总是被一些陈年旧事所震撼。那些人与事,已然蒙上岁月的尘埃,隐逝在记忆帷幕深处,在时光之手的淘洗摩挲下,熠熠发光,像一堆散发着樟脑味儿的绸缎。没有多少人会重新拾起,甚至偶尔在唇齿之间驻留片刻都不。只有我,以及我平庸而琐屑的生活,才会经常受到它们的困扰。哪怕是少女般妩媚的夏日清晨,也无法洗净我睡梦的残余,它们像分泌着黏糊糊液汁的根 1 wake up every night, I always be some old age shocked. The dust of those days and years which have been cast aside by those things and things, passed away in the depths of the curtain of memory, shining like a pile of silken silk cloth with the smell of camphor, under the washing of the hands of time. Not many people will pick up again and again, and occasionally stay there for a few moments. Only me, as well as my mediocre and trivial life, will often suffer from them. Even if it is a girl-like charming summer morning, I can not wash the remnants of my sleep, they are like the root of slimy juice