如果我是风筝,父亲就是那个牵着风筝线的人。不管风筝飞得多高多远,始终有一根线牵挂萦绕在我和父亲之间。我望见父亲已布满细密皱纹的额角,便从心底油然升起一股悲凉:父亲老了。无情的岁月带走了父亲的青春,磨秃了父亲的激情,留给父亲却是脸上一道道深刻的皱纹。父亲整日为了生计奔波忙碌,生 If I were a kite, my father was the one holding the kite line. Regardless of how far the kite is flying, there is always a thread lingering between me and my father. I saw my father’s forehead covered in fine wrinkles, and she rose from the bottom of my heart to a sadness: My father was old. The ruthless years took away his father’s youth, bald his father’s passion, and left his father with a deep wrinkle on his face. Father spends his days busy with his livelihood