分不清是雨水还是泪水,只觉得脸上湿漉漉的,眼前雾蒙蒙的,心里空荡荡的。我漫无目的地走在校园里,任凭小雨打湿头发,发丝垂下来贴在额上,渐渐模糊了我的双眼。一阵歌声从远处飘来,凄婉,忧伤,缠绵,似乎正在诉说一个动人的故事,“听雨的声音,一滴滴清晰,真希望雨能下不停……”推开记忆这扇沉重的门,我就仿佛走进博物馆的长廊,其间每一处景物都意味着一段美丽的回忆,每一件东西都牵扯着一个雨季的故事。与他相识,也是在这湿漉漉地飘着小雨的雨季。 Can not distinguish between rain or tears, only felt wet face, fog in front of my heart empty. I walked aimlessly on the campus, despite the light rain wet hair, hair hanging down on the forehead, gradually blur my eyes. Suddenly singing a song from afar, sad, sad, lingering, seems to be telling an engaging story, “to hear the sound of the rain, a drop of clear, I really hope the rain can not stop. ” Open the memory of this heavy Door, I just walked into the museum’s promenade, during which every scene means a beautiful memory, everything involves a rainy season story. Meet him, but also in this wet rain drifting rainy season.