我又看到了自己的那把吉他。窗口斜斜地照进几束阳光,周围飞扬的灰尘使它不再明亮,锈蚀的琴弦也不再歌唱。它旁边一个歪斜的木架被钉在墙上,使尘封的往事浮现眼前……“老师好。”我恭敬地说道,旋即落座。手指抚上琴弦,我仿佛能听到自己的心跳,深吸一口气,努力使自己平静下来。手指轻拨,清脆的乐声缓缓淌出,流向我们初次相遇时。三年前,我被歌星们弹奏吉他的身影深深吸引,便央求妈妈给我报了个培训班。那个明亮的房间里,我第一次 I saw my guitar again. The window shone diagonally into a few beams of sunlight, flying dust around it is no longer bright, rusty strings are no longer singing. A skewed wooden stand next to it was nailed to the wall, making the dusty past emerge ... “” Teacher is good. "I said respectfully, immediately seated. Stroking my strings with my fingers, I seem to hear my heartbeat, taking a deep breath and trying to calm myself down. Finger flick, crisp music slowly drip, flow to our first encounter. Three years ago, I was deeply attracted by singers playing guitar, and begged my mother to give me a training course. That bright room, my first time