比海更蓝的是九万英尺之上的空,比手更轻柔的是那月那日湖畔吹来的风,比血更红的是在黑夜中叨念你名字的嘴唇,比春光更欣喜的是每一年三月的桃李。决然不回头的不止那五千年前奔月的嫦娥,还有一望无垠让人迷失的如水时间,和你渐渐凋零在此的眷眷容光。 More blue than the sea is more than ninety thousand feet empty, more gentle than the hand is the wind blowing on the lake that day, the blood is more red in the night nailed your name lips, more delight than the spring Every year in March of the peaches and plums. Never mind looking back at Chang’e, which flew to the moon five thousand years ago, as well as an endless stream of lost water, and the light of the family members who have gradually faded away from you.