这是7岁的除夕夜。广场上挤满了人。有人在广场周边点烟花,引线咝咝地响,而后白色喷泉一样的流光蹿上夜空,宛若无数的星星,宛若冬天的飞雪。“高点,再高点,我要摸到它了!”我坐在父亲肩膀上,兴奋地大喊大叫。烟花陆续在头顶上绽放,不久又像一条条金鱼跃人黑暗的海里。我耳朵里灌满了雨点一样的声响。这是11岁的向往。 This is 7 years old New Year’s Eve. The square is full of people. Some people in the square around the fireworks, leads shouting, and then the same white fountain like the night on the streamer, just like countless stars, just like the winter blizzard. “High, high again, I want to touch it! ” I sat on my father’s shoulders, shouting excitedly. Fireworks gradually blooming overhead, and soon like a goldfish leap into the dark sea. My ears were filled with raindrops. This is a longing for 11 years.