若说是习惯,我还戒不掉文字的依靠。习惯了将自己零散的情绪放逐在文字的海洋,飘零,无依无靠。习惯让风儿吹干眼角的泪痕。好吧,我承认我很脆弱,要不然怎会用这种苍白的叙述来祭奠这有缘无份的故事了。
If it is a habit, I can not quit the word to rely on. Accustomed to their scattered emotions in exile in the text of the sea, drifting, helpless. Get used to letting the wind dry the tears. Well, I admit that I am fragile, otherwise how can I use this pale narrative to sacrifice this story of fate.
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