我似乎已到中年,影子短暂肉体抽象,一纸一木皆是教导。郑重地给朋友写信向父母请安,数着盐粒过日子想想,还有多少未竟之事在身体里晃荡:为人谋而不忠乎?与朋友交而不信乎?传不习乎?想当年,这小女子爱上我,大概也不是因为我的贫困吧 I seem to have reached middle age, the shadow of a temporary physical abstraction, a piece of wood is taught. Solemnly write a letter to a friend to his parents please, count the salt particles to live think about how many unfinished things in the body sloshing: seek loyalty to the people and friends do not believe? The little girl fell in love with me, probably not because of my poverty