米兰的这个初夏万物依旧,空气中照例弥漫着一股花木初绽芳泽时的清新爽意、且足以迷惑人嗅觉的诱人气息,“最起码米兰的天气还不错。”罗纳尔多渐渐发觉,自己用这句话来自我安慰的频率已经高得有些怕人了。潜意识里他在自虐一般地压抑着这种不祥的念头,因为他知道,米兰这座城市对他来说,如果只剩下天气还够浪漫可人的话,那就真的没有什么值得留恋的了。这个午后稍微有些燥,但清风撩人,被那一缕如婴孩小手般温暖的阳光轻抚着,让人有种昏昏欲睡的奇妙感觉。在自家屋后长廊下的躺椅上,罗纳尔多微阖着眼,低架着一双腿,意识似有似无地迷糊着,他像已进入了抽身不得的梦境。半梦半醒间,他的眼里被一堵纯白松木门所瞬间充斥,还有门立柱上挂着的那看上一眼 The beginning of this summer, everything in Milan is still the same, as usual in the air filled with fresh flowers when the early fresh aroma, and enough to deceive the tempting smell of people smell, “at least the weather in Milan is not bad.” Ronaldo gradually realized, The frequency of self-comforting in my own words is already a bit scary. He subconsciously masked this ominous idea of ​​masochism in general, because he knew that there was nothing really deserving of nostalgia for him in Milan, if only the weather was romantic . The afternoon was a bit dry, but the breeze was sultry and was stroked by the warm, sun-like light of a baby’s hand, a wonderful, sleepy feeling. On the couch under the promenade behind her own house, Ronaldo looked at the door with a low angle of one leg and a sense of ambiguity. He was like he had entered an unforgettable dream. Half-awake half-awakened, his eyes were a moment of pure white pine doors flooded, there are hung on the door column to take a look