每一天都过得忙忙碌碌,有时候甚至忘记了,沉默时在想些什么。眼看着时光一点一点地流去,手心捏得更紧,怕什么溜了去。失去的越来越多,每一样、每一件,放在心里,擦不掉、拭不去。季节渐渐变得荒凉,像一支曲子,流淌在黑夜里,婉转凄清。这颗心,距离干枯已经只剩下了一半,终究还是不再恢复原来的那种完美。感觉着时间的流逝,冰冷的空气,凉了指尖缠绵的缕缕忧伤,也僵硬了心底一角无声的疼痛。过去的那些日子,仿佛是 Every day has been busy, and sometimes even forget, what to think in silence. Seeing the passage of time little by little, palm squeeze tighter, afraid of what slipped away. Lost more and more, every kind, every piece, in my heart, can not afford to wipe away. Season gradually become desolate, like a song, flowing in the dark, mildly desolate. This heart, only half the distance from the dry, after all, no longer restore the original kind of perfection. Feel the passage of time, cold air, cold fingertips lingering sorrow, but also stiff silent heart ache. The past days, as if