爱那么短,遗忘却那么长。我父亲去世的时候才27岁,我那时七八岁,足以记住他。当医生告诉我们父亲去世这个消息的时候,母亲哭了。而我则处在震惊状态,一个护士走过来,腋下夹着一个鞋盒,盒子里装满了未拆封的信,信封上应该写地址的地方写着一些话。那个护士递给我一封信,唯一一封没有被装进盒子的信。 Love is so short, forgotten but so long. My father was 27 when I died, and I was seven or eight at that time enough to remember him. When the doctor told us the news of his father’s death, the mother cried. And I was in a state of shock. A nurse walked over, with a shoebox in her armpit, the box full of unopened letters, and some words on the envelope where the address should be written. The nurse handed me a letter, the only one that had not been put in a box.