一一个人走了很长很长的路,蓦然顿住,回首,看到苍茫过往,却没发现一路上尾随他散落的碎茧壳,那么,他便不算真正长大。如果,他看到了许多碎茧壳,却不知在那里面曾紧紧包裹着自己死去的旧我,在他的前方,还将有无数茧壳等待他进入,那么,他的灵性仍没成熟。那个他,可能是你,可能是我。窗前有一只蝴蝶,在你不经意时,翩然飞来,带 One by one walked a long, long way, suddenly paused, looked back, saw the vast past, but did not find his way along the scattered cocoon shell, then he would not really grow up. If he had seen many cocoon shells but did not know where he had wrapped his tightly wrapped old me, there would be countless cocoon shells in front of him waiting for him to enter. Then his spirituality was still immature. That he, may be you, may be me. A butterfly in front of the window, when you inadvertently fluttered, with