就是随便起个题目,回忆一下那些如烟的往事,和心中至今已在渐渐淡定的文学情结,讲几句自己与文学的那点事儿。回忆是过去的曾经,曾经交替而过的日子,被沉淀在记忆的深处。随着年龄的增长,自己有时就像一把老茶壶,每日总把一些新的叶子和陈的叶子,泡在壶中,总想把日子品出个个中滋味;有时自己又像一个老酒坛,不管人情冷暖的时候,总愿斟出心中的美好, Is just a subject, memories of those smoke of the past, and hearts have gradually calm the literary complex, say a few words of their own and literary thing. Memories of the past, once the passing days, was deposited in the depths of memory. With age, sometimes like an old teapot, every day always put some new leaves and Chen leaves, soak in the pot, always want to taste every taste; sometimes they are like a wine Altar, regardless of human warmth, always willing to pour out the hearts of the good,