亲凋花开,满山映红,我不由又悲痛地想起了父亲。“父亲”对我来说是个缺乏感性认识,脱口而出时却又泪水涟涟的特殊词语。是一场破碎的梦,是一本散落的书,这书读起来太沉重,太辛酸,会揉皱揉碎一个孤儿的心。“父亲”的概念来自于我幼时几个模糊的画面,来自于亲友的回忆和评论,来自于几张泛黄的自传和几帧旧照。 Pro-withered flowers, full of red mountain, I can not help but remembered his father sadly. “Father ” for me is a lack of perceptual knowledge, blurted out when the tears of the special words. It was a broken dream, a scattered book. The book was too heavy and too bitter to crumple and crumple an orphan’s heart. The concept of “father” comes from a few vague images of my childhood, memories and comments from relatives and friends, from several yellowish autobiographies and several old photographs.