踏进许久未进的老屋,一股陈旧的带着岁月味道的记忆扑面而来。摸过老屋的每一处,都能发现那略带灰尘的记忆,都能发现那老去的事物。老屋的墙壁,老了。老屋墙壁上的裂缝,像是条条皱纹,趴在他那苍老的脸上。原本洁白的墙壁已变得灰黄,隐隐约约看得到从前我在上面画的拙劣的简笔画。那时我总爱在奶奶外出干活时,拿一根粉笔,偷偷摸摸地在墙角画上小人儿,再配 Step into the long-awaited old house, an old memories of the years with the smell blowing. Touched every corner of the old house, can find that the memory of the dusty, can find that the old things. The walls of the old house, old. The cracks in the walls of old houses, like wrinkles, lay on his old face. The original white walls had become pale yellow, vaguely seen in the past I draw on the poor stick figure. At that time, I always love to go out to work when my grandmother, take a piece of chalk, sneaky in the corner painted small children, matching