旧时光是个美人,可她拭不去你的痕迹。坐在奔驰的列车上,倚靠在车窗边,眼前的城市,带着几分陌生,又似乎有几分熟悉。思绪随着列车的晃动追溯到了2009年的那个夏天,那个充满死亡气息的夏天。我六岁时,你六十六岁。依稀记得,那年父母离去的背影。我哭得撕心裂肺,你坐在院落里,沉默地嗒吧着烟。等到我哭累时,安静地坐在地上,你伸出沧桑的手,说道:“没事,以后还有我呢!”看着你浓密而花白的胡 Old time is a beauty, but she can not wipe your mark. Sitting on the Mercedes-Benz train, leaning against the window, in front of the city, with a bit unfamiliar, it seems a bit familiar. The train of thoughts goes back to the summer of 2009, the summer full of death. When I was six years old, you were sixty-six years old. Vaguely remember that year, the departure of their parents back. I cried heart-piercing, you sit in the courtyard, silent in the bar. Wait until I cry tired, quietly sitting on the ground, your hand out of the vicissitudes of life, said: “Nothing, there is me after it!” Watching you thick and white Hu