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再一次将手指立上琴弦,我深吸一口气。前奏的引子在雪域高原上潺潺的流水中拉开,春的气息融化了冰雪,唤醒了万物,如同曲谱中流畅的琴音……乐声是被一声断筝的脆响打破的,我羞愧地低下头,不敢看老师,轻轻地摩挲着右手无名指的指肚。那里还残留着被琴弦硌过的嫣红,以及一片小小的粗糙的突起—一个尚未成形的茧,仍然保留着皮肤最初的柔软。指上残留的疼痛仿佛在提醒我的失败,我在书房里面对着筝,只觉得我与这冰冷的乐器始终有着一层隔膜,无法打破,无法亲近。
Once again put your finger on the strings, I take a deep breath. Prelude to the prologue in the snow-capped mountains on the gurgling water opened, the spring melts the snow, awakened everything, as the melody in the smooth melody ... ... music is broken by the sound of broken kite crisp, I am ashamed Bow down, afraid to see the teacher, gently rubbing the ring finger of the right hand ring finger. There was also the bright red of the strings, a small, rough bulge - an unmolded cocoon still retaining the initial softness of the skin. The residual pain in my fingers seemed to remind me of the failure. I was facing a kite in my study, and I only felt that I had a diaphragm with this cold musical instrument, unable to break and could not get close.