多年之后,我也一定会常常想起那个阳光并不热烈的上午。走廊的窗外,树叶上的薄雾未干,映入眼帘的是清甜的绿,我站在窗前等你,摆弄着被清晨沾湿的发,心不在焉地翻弄着面前这本帧淡言深的书。身体的热把发梢蒸干,竟透出一抹草木微醺的气味,转而又嘲笑起自己的幻觉来,草木是被蜜汁灌醉的吧,到底,是心醉了。听见你的脚步声,兀自紧张。噢,不,那是每个毛孔屏住呼吸,蓄势待发的喜悦。我轻快地跟上你,竟忘了回应你的问候。你终于转过头,我看着你诧异于 Years later, I will always remember that the sun is not warm morning. Corridor of the window, the leaves of the mist did not dry, greeted by the sweet green, I stood in front of the window waiting for you, play with the morning damp hair, absently to flirt before the frame of this deep book of. Body heat to the hair dry, revealing a touch of grass micro-Wei smell, turn to laugh at their illusion, the vegetation is to be nectar intoxicated it, in the end, is intoxicated. Hear your footsteps, from the tension. Oh, no, it is the joy that every pore holds for breath, ready to go. I briskly follow you, actually forgot to respond to your greeting. You finally turned his head, I looked at you surprised