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阳台早已腾空,静静地候着书们光临。两纸箱的书,只有半箱是我的,其余都是母亲的。藏了十几年的书,大多发了霉,缺了角,散发出淡淡的腥气——旧东西的味道。印象里我们经常搬家,每搬一次,很多东西就会莫名其妙地失踪,这批书虽破的破残的残,却被用心地保管着,至今没有少。大大小小的书零零落落地散在天青色地板上,《人间词话》《中国文化史纲》《席慕蓉爱情诗》……我和母亲就坐在这
Balcony has long been vacant, quietly waiting for the book to visit. Two cartons of books, only half box is mine, the rest are mothers. Hidden more than a decade of books, most of the hair mold, lack of angle, exudes a touch of fishy - old things taste. Impressions where we often move, each move once, many things will somehow disappeared, although these books broken broken disabled, but was carefully in custody, so far no less. Large and small books scattered scattered on the azure floor, “Human Words” “History of Chinese Culture” “Xi Mu Rong love poems” ...... My mother and I sat here