一面墙我是一面墙。白云苍狗。我变得有些许陈旧了,墙角长满了细细密密滑腻的幽绿青苔,砖瓦的缝隙间钻出了娇弱倔强的新绿,原本散发的淡淡的新粉味也消失殆尽,取而代之的是水渍浸透的霉雨味,风丝丝绵绵地拂过,吹开了些许附着的灰尘杂草,露出了隐隐的、淡到不可明辨的墨迹。风卷起了地上的尘土,带着小小的旋儿轻轻巧巧地溜过一个人的脚边,空留了满腔萧索。那人的背已经有些许佝偻,拄着拐,脚步有些缓慢,我想像人一样说什么,但我只是墙,所以 One wall I am a wall. Baiyun Chow. I became a little old, and the corners were covered with fine, dense and moist green moss, and the delicate greenery of the brick gaps. The faint smell of new powder that was originally distributed also disappeared and replaced. It was a mild rainy scent that was soaked with water. The wind blew through it in a drizzle, blowing some dusty weeds, revealing faint, indistinct ink. The wind rolled up the dust on the ground, and with a small swirl gently glided past one’s feet, leaving nothing to hide. The man’s back has been a little guilty, crouching on his knees, and his pace is a little slow. I want to say something like a man, but I’m just a wall, so