很多个夜晚,我沿着弥漫淡淡的忧伤的梦境,回到那个泊在淡淡月光下的故乡。浓墨色的故乡,在纸花般灿烂的繁星下慵懒地睡着。我梦见自己站在一扇又一扇的门前,仔细辨认着自己的家门,青砖墙上枯黄的茎草冷漠地望着我,如同一群操着满口土话的乡村少年打量着一个装扮异样的外乡人。 Many nights, I walked back and forth to the hometown of the moonlight in a light, sad dreams. Hometown of thick ink, lazy asleep in the paper-shining stars. I dreamed I was standing in front of a fan, carefully identify their own home, the blue-yellow stalks staring blankly at me, as a group of rural teenagers talking about dress up with a strange look Outsiders.