“我要像最初的那个西门少年,不畏流血不惧流言不停地奋力奔跑下去。”——题记夜色渐黑,月光一点点蚕食着小城。西门外的杂草被风吹动,泛着浅蓝色的光辉。泥土上铺着的薄薄的沙,狂舞着扑向门框。吉他包从西门的肩上长长垂下,擦着不平整的水泥墙壁,包的边缘不断被勾起纤维。西门抹了把汗,继续拖着吉他往前走,吉他不断碰触地面,丝弦发出声响。翻过窗户,他来到了房间里。看着床 “- I want to be like the original Simon young, defying gossip bloody endless struggling run. ” - Inscription night darkening, a little bit of moonlight erode the town. West weeds are blown by the wind, glowing light blue color. The thin sand on the soil, danced toward the door frame. Guitar bag from Simon’s shoulder long hanging down, rub the uneven concrete walls, the edge of the bag constantly being hooked fiber. Simon wiped sweat, continue to drag the guitar forward, the guitar constantly touching the ground, the strings made a noise. Turned over the window, he came to the room. Looking at the bed