她声音哑哑的，在三月的夜里蔓延，透明的声线里，像是下着淡淡的沙。夕阳斜过廊檐，她站在光影里，我看不见她的脸，但我可以感觉到她脸上的忧伤，在风里，一漾一漾的。我追着火车拼命地跑，长发温柔地飞在风里。所有的无奈与忧伤都有杀那间汇成河流，滑出眼眶。卖气球的小女孩递约我水彩笔，让我在气球上写祝福，我记得我写的是：一间屋，两个人，三餐饭，风雨四季……(Her voice is hoarse, and spreads in the night of March; transparent sound ray likes light sand. The setting sun passes the eaves of a veranda; she stands in the shadow, and I cannot see her face, but I can feel sadness on her face, rippling in the wind. I chase the train and desperately run; long hair softly flies in the wind. All helplessness and sadness converge into a river in a twinkling and slip off from orbit. The little girl who sells balloons hands me a water color pen to write wishes on the balloon; I remembers I wrote a room, two people, three meals and four seasons….)