那些年,一颗从青春的花苞里掉出的泪落进时光的河流中,一支秃笔踩在我的日记本上,一串歪歪扭扭的印记开始慢慢延伸:你还好吗?曾经,你的笔落在我昏黄的案台前。你仰起高傲的脸庞,对我说:我的未来不是梦。沿着青春的路轨一路走来,那些年路过的风景,那些被拉长的岁月,已经被埋进历史的角落。光阴似箭,日月如梭。夕阳下的我,只懂得回忆那些 In those years, a tear from the bud of youth fell into the river of time, a bald pen stamped on my diary, a string of crooked marks began to slowly extend: How are you? Once, you Pen in front of my dim desk. You look up proud face, said to me: my future is not a dream. Along the path of youth along the road, those passing scenery, those elongated years, have been buried in the corner of history. Time flies, the sun and the moon flies. Under the sunset I only know how to recall those