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流水已经向遥远的平静走去。天空越发的灰白。在车流与人流熙攘着从身边淌过却更加使人感到孤独、疏远、漠然的三百六十五个日夜之后,我没有忘记。尽管不堪回首,尽管是一段岁月的荒凉,尽管还追逐着丝丝缕缕的疼痛。一年前那个“愚人节”的黄昏,带来了夜的黑暗与深沉,竟也带来了他向着天空的飞翔和向着大地的坠落,在天空与大地之间热爱音乐的心灵里,盛开了生命最后最凄艳的花朵。
Flowing water has been far to the quiet walk. The more gray the sky. I have not forgotten three hundred and sixty-five days and nights after the traffic flow and the crowds of people walking around but more lonely, alienated and indifferent. Despite the painful experience, despite the desolation of a time, chasing slightest pain. One year ago that evening of April Fool ’s Day brought the night’ s darkness and deepness, which actually brought him flying toward the sky and falling toward the earth. In the heart of the music loving space between the sky and the earth, The last and most exquisite flowers of life.