下面是小编为大家收集的爱在无语时，本文共12篇，仅供参考，欢迎大家阅读，一起分享。本文原稿由网友“oyishi”提供。
篇1：爱在无语时
In the doorway of my home, I looked closely at the face of my 23-year-old son, Daniel, his backpack by his side. We were saying good-bye. In a few hours he would be flying to France. He would be staying there for at least a year to learn another language and experience life in a different country.
It was a transitional time in Daniel‘s life, a passage, a step from college into the adult world. I wanted to leave him some words that would have some meaning, some significance beyond the moment.
But nothing came from my lips. No sound broke the stillness of my beachside home. Outside, I could hear the shrill cries of sea gulls as they circled the ever changing surf on Long Island. Inside, I stood frozen and quiet, looking into the searching eyes of my son.
What made it more difficult was that I knew this was not the first time I had let such a moment pass. When Daniel was five, I took him to the school-bus stop on his first day of kindergarten. I felt the tension in his hand holding mine as the bus turned the corner. I saw colour flush his cheeks as the bus pulled up. He looked at me-as he did now.
What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay? And then he walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared inside. And the bus drove away. And I had said nothing.
A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out. With his mother, I drove him to William and Mary College in Virginia. His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates, and when he met us the next morning, he was sick. He was coming down with mononucleosis, but we could not know that then. We thought he had a hangover.
In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home. I tried to think of something to say to give him courage and confidence as he started this new phase of life.
Again, words failed me. I mumbled something like, “Hope you feel better Dan.” And I left.
Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities. How many times have we all let such moments pass? A boy graduates from school, a daughter gets married. We go through the motions of the ceremony, but we don‘t seek out our children and find a quiet moment to tell them what they have meant to us. Or what they might expect to face in the years ahead.
How fast the years had passed. Daniel was born in New Orleans, LA., in 1962, slow to walk and talk, and small of stature. He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm, outgoing nature and was popular with his peers. He was coordinated and 6)agile, and he became adept in sports.
Baseball gave him his earliest challenge. He was an outstanding pitcher in Little League, and eventually, as a senior in high school, made the varsity, winning half the team‘s games with a record of five wins and two losses. At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team‘s most valuable player.
His finest hour, though, came at a school science fair. He entered an exhibit showing how the circulatory system works. It was primitive and crude, especially compared to the fancy, computerized, blinking-light models entered by other students. My wife, Sara, felt embarrassed for him.
It turned out that the other kids had not done their own work-their parents had made their exhibits. As the judges went on their rounds, they found that these other kids couldn‘t answer their questions. Daniel answered every one. When the judges awarded the Albert Einstein Plaque for the best exhibit, they gave it to him.
By the time Daniel left for college he stood six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds. He was muscular and in superb condition, but he never pitched another inning, having given up baseball for English literature. I was sorry that he would not develop his athletic talent, but proud that he had made such a mature decision.
One day I told Daniel that the great failing in my life had been that I didn‘t take a year or two off to travel when I finished college. This is the best way, to my way of thinking, to broaden oneself and develop a larger perspective on life. Once I had married and begun working, I found that the dream of living in another culture had vanished.
Daniel thought about this. His friends said that he would be insane to put his career on hold. But he decided it wasn‘t so crazy. After graduation, he worked as a waiter at college, a bike messenger and a house painter. With the money he earned, he had enough to go to Paris.
The night before he was to leave, I tossed in bed. I was trying to figure out something to say. Nothing came to mind. Maybe, I thought, it wasn‘t necessary to say anything.
What does it matter in the course of a life-time if a father never tells a son what he really thinks of him? But as I stood before Daniel, I knew that it does matter. My father and I loved each other. Yet, I always regretted never hearing him put his feelings into words and never having the memory of that moment. Now, I could feel my palms sweat and my throat tighten. Why is it so hard to tell a son something from the heart? My mouth turned dry, and I knew I would be able to get out only a few words clearly.
“Daniel,“ I said, ”if I could have picked, I would have picked you.“
That‘s all I could say. I wasn‘t sure he understood what I meant. Then he came toward me and threw his arms around me. For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there was just Daniel and me in our home by the sea.
He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn‘t understand what he was saying. All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine. And then, the moment ended. I went to work, and Daniel left a few hours later with his girlfriend.
That was seven weeks ago, and I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends. Thousands of miles away, somewhere out past the ocean waves breaking on the deserted shore, he might be scurrying across Boulevard Saint Germain, strolling through a musty hallway of the Louvre, bending an elbow in a Left Bank café.
What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
篇2：爱在无语时
Words From a Father
In the doorway of my home, I looked closely at the face of my 23-year-old son, Daniel, his backpack by his side. We were saying good-bye. In a few hours he would be flying to France. He would be staying there for at least a year to learn another language and experience life in a different country.
It was a transitional time in Daniel‘s life, a passage, a step from college into the adult world. I wanted to leave him some words that would have some meaning, some significance beyond the moment.
But nothing came from my lips. No sound broke the stillness of my beachside home. Outside, I could hear the shrill cries of sea gulls as they circled the ever changing surf on Long Island. Inside, I stood frozen and quiet, looking into the searching eyes of my son.
What made it more difficult was that I knew this was not the first time I had let such a moment pass. When Daniel was five, I took him to the school-bus stop on his first day of kindergarten. I felt the tension in his hand holding mine as the bus turned the corner. I saw colour flush his cheeks as the bus pulled up. He looked at me-as he did now.
What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay? And then he walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared inside. And the bus drove away. And I had said nothing.
A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out. With his mother, I drove him to William and Mary College in Virginia. His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates, and when he met us the next morning, he was sick. He was coming down with mononucleosis, but we could not know that then. We thought he had a hangover.
In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home. I tried to think of something to say to give him courage and confidence as he started this new phase of life.
Again, words failed me. I mumbled something like, ”Hope you feel better Dan.“ And I left.
Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities. How many times have we all let such moments pass? A boy graduates from school, a daughter gets married. We go through the motions of the ceremony, but we don‘t seek out our children and find a quiet moment to tell them what they have meant to us. Or what they might expect to face in the years ahead.
How fast the years had passed. Daniel was born in New Orleans, LA., in 1962, slow to walk and talk, and small of stature. He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm, outgoing nature and was popular with his peers. He was coordinated and 6)agile, and he became adept in sports.
Baseball gave him his earliest challenge. He was an outstanding pitcher in Little League, and eventually, as a senior in high school, made the varsity, winning half the team‘s games with a record of five wins and two losses. At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team‘s most valuable player.
His finest hour, though, came at a school science fair. He entered an exhibit showing how the circulatory system works. It was primitive and crude, especially compared to the fancy, computerized, blinking-light models entered by other students. My wife, Sara, felt embarrassed for him.
It turned out that the other kids had not done their own work-their parents had made their exhibits. As the judges went on their rounds, they found that these other kids couldn‘t answer their questions. Daniel answered every one. When the judges awarded the Albert Einstein Plaque for the best exhibit, they gave it to him.
By the time Daniel left for college he stood six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds. He was muscular and in superb condition, but he never pitched another inning, having given up baseball for English literature. I was sorry that he would not develop his athletic talent, but proud that he had made such a mature decision.
One day I told Daniel that the great failing in my life had been that I didn‘t take a year or two off to travel when I finished college. This is the best way, to my way of thinking, to broaden oneself and develop a larger perspective on life. Once I had married and begun working, I found that the dream of living in another culture had vanished.
Daniel thought about this. His friends said that he would be insane to put his career on hold. But he decided it wasn‘t so crazy. After graduation, he worked as a waiter at college, a bike messenger and a house painter. With the money he earned, he had enough to go to Paris.
The night before he was to leave, I tossed in bed. I was trying to figure out something to say. Nothing came to mind. Maybe, I thought, it wasn‘t necessary to say anything.
What does it matter in the course of a life-time if a father never tells a son what he really thinks of him? But as I stood before Daniel, I knew that it does matter. My father and I loved each other. Yet, I always regretted never hearing him put his feelings into words and never having the memory of that moment. Now, I could feel my palms sweat and my throat tighten. Why is it so hard to tell a son something from the heart? My mouth turned dry, and I knew I would be able to get out only a few words clearly.
“Daniel,” I said, “if I could have picked, I would have picked you.”
That‘s all I could say. I wasn‘t sure he understood what I meant. Then he came toward me and threw his arms around me. For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there was just Daniel and me in our home by the sea.
He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn‘t understand what he was saying. All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine. And then, the moment ended. I went to work, and Daniel left a few hours later with his girlfriend.
That was seven weeks ago, and I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends. Thousands of miles away, somewhere out past the ocean waves breaking on the deserted shore, he might be scurrying across Boulevard Saint Germain, strolling through a musty hallway of the Louvre, bending an elbow in a Left Bank café.
What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
篇3：双语美文《爱在无语时》
In the doorway of my home, I looked closely at the face of my 23-year-old son, Daniel, his backpack by his side.
在家门口，我凝视着23岁的儿子丹尼尔的脸，他的背包就放在身旁。
We were saying goodbye.
几个小时之后我们即将道别。
In a few hours he would be flying to France.
他就要飞往法国。
He would be staying there for at least a year to learn another language and experience life in a different country.
他将在那里待上至少一年的时间学习另一种语言，体验另一个国度的生活。
It was a transitional time in Daniel’s life, a passage, a step from college into the adult world.
这是丹尼尔生命中的一个过渡时期，也是他从象牙塔进入成人世界踏出的一步。
I wanted to leave him some words that would have some meaning, some significance beyond the moment.
我希望送给他几句话，几句能让他受用终身的话语。
But nothing came from my lips.
但我竟一句话也说不出来。
No sound broke the stillness of my beachside home.
我们的房子坐落在海边，此刻屋里一片静寂。
Outside, I could hear the shrill cries of sea gulls as they circled the ever changing surf on Long Island.
屋外，海鸥在波涛澎湃的长岛海域上空盘旋，我能听见它们的声声尖叫。
Inside, I stood frozen and quiet, looking into the searching eyes of my son.
我就这样冷冷地站在屋里，默默地注视着儿子那双困惑的眼睛。
What made it more difficult was that I knew this was not the first time I had let such a moment pass.
更糟的是，我知道自己已经不是第一次让如此重要的时光白白流逝。
When Daniel was five, I took him to the school-bus stop on his first day of kindergarten.
丹尼尔五岁的时候，那是他上幼儿园的第一天，我领着他来到校车的停车点。
I felt the tension in his hand holding mine as the bus turned the corner.
当校车转过街角出现时，他的小手紧紧地攥着我，我感觉到了他的紧张。
I saw color flush his cheeks as the bus pulled up.
校车到站的那一刻，丹尼尔双颊发红。
He looked at me―as he did now.
抬头望着我――就像现在这样。
What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay?
“爸爸，接下来会怎样呢?我能行么?我会很好吗?”
And then he walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared inside.
说着，他上了校车，消失在我的视线里。
And the bus drove away.
车开走了。
And I had said nothing.
我却始终开不了口。
A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out.
十多年后，这一幕再次上演。
With his mother, I drove him to William and Mary College in Virginia.
我和妻子开车送他到维吉尼亚州的威廉玛丽学院读书。
His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates, and when he met us the next morning, he was sick.
在学校的第一个晚上，丹尼尔和他的新同学一起外出，第二天清晨，再见到他时，他病了。
He was coming down with mononucleosis, but we could not know that then.
其实他当时已经染上了单核细胞增多症，但我们并不知道那件事。
We thought he had a hangover.
以为他只是有点不舒服而已。
In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home.
我准备启程回家时，丹尼尔正在宿舍的床上躺着。
I tried to think of something to say to give him courage and confidence as he started this new phase of life.
我很想说一些鼓励的话语，在他开始这份新生活时，给他一些勇气和信心。
Again, words failed me.
但是，我再一次语塞。
I mumbled something like, “Hope you feel better, Dan.” And I left.
我只是咕哝了一句：“希望你快点好起来，丹尼尔。”然后就转身离开了。
Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities.
此时此刻，当我站在他面前，我想起了那些错过的时刻。
How many times have we all let such moments pass?
究竟有多少次，我们让这些珍贵的时刻白白溜走?
A boy graduates from school, a daughter gets married.
儿子的毕业典礼，女儿的婚礼等等。
We go through the motions of the ceremony, but we don’t seek out our children and find a quiet moment to tell them what they have meant to us.
我们疲于应付这些热闹的场面，却没有在人群中抓住我们的孩子，找个安静的地方，亲口说出他们对我们有多么重要。
Or what they might expect to face in the years ahead.
或者与他们聊聊未来的挑战和人生的期望。
How fast the years had passed.
时光飞逝，岁月如梭。
Daniel was born in New Orleans, LA.,in 1962, slow to walk and talk, and small of stature.
1962年，小丹尼尔出生于洛杉矶新奥尔良市。他学会走路和说话要比同龄人稍迟一些，个子也长得不高。
He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm, outgoing nature and was popular with his peers.
但是，尽管丹尼尔是班里最瘦小的一个，但他的性格热情外向，在同学中人缘颇佳。
He was coordinated and agile, and he became adept in sports.
由于协调性好，动作敏捷，他很快就成了运动高手。
Baseball gave him his earliest challenge.
棒球是丹尼尔人生的第一项挑战。
He was an outstanding pitcher in Little League, and eventually, as a senior in high school, made the varsity, winning half the team’s games with a record of five wins and two losses.
他是棒球队里出色的投手，高三的时候，丹尼尔带领学校棒球队所向披靡，创下了七局五胜的记录。
At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team’s most valuable player.
在毕业典礼上，棒球教练宣布他为球队里的最有价值球员。
His finest hour, though,came at a school science fair.
然而，丹尼尔最辉煌的时刻却是在一次校园科技展上。
He entered an exhibit showing how the circulatory system works.
丹尼尔带着他的循环电路系统参加了这次展览。
It was primitive and crude, especially compared to the fancy, computerized, blinking-light models entered by other students.
与其他参展学生的那些新奇怪异、电脑操控、熠熠发光的模型相比，丹尼尔的作品相形见绌。
My wife, Sara, felt embarrassed for him.
我的妻子莎拉都感到有些尴尬。
It turned out that the other kids had not done their own work―their parents had made their exhibits.
后来我们才知道，其他孩子的作品并不是自己完成的，而是父母代劳的。
As the judges went on their rounds, they found that these other kids couldn’t answer their questions.
当评委在现场评审的时候，他们发现这些孩子都对参展作品一无所知，无法回答他们的问题。
Daniel answered every one.
只有丹尼尔对答如流。
When the judges awarded the Albert Einstein Plaque for the best exhibit, they gave it to him.
于是，他们把本次展览的最佳作品奖颁给了丹尼尔，并授予他艾伯特・爱因斯坦奖牌。
By the time Daniel left for college he stood six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds.
丹尼尔刚进大学时已经是个身高六尺、重一百七十磅的堂堂男子汉了。
He was muscular and in superb condition, but he never pitched another inning, having given up baseball for English literature.
自从放弃棒球而选择英国文学后，肌肉结实、身体强壮的丹尼尔就再没打过棒球了。
I was sorry that he would not develop his athletic talent, but proud that he had made such a mature decision.
我为他放弃了自己的体育特长感到遗憾，但更为他做出如此慎重的决定感到骄傲。
One day I told Daniel that the great failing in my life had been that I didn’t take a year or two off to travel when I finished college.
有一次，我告诉丹尼尔，我一生中最大的失误就是，大学刚毕业时没能抽出一两年的时间出游旅行。
This is the best way, to my way of thinking, to broaden oneself and develop a larger perspective on life.
在我看来，旅行是开拓视野、形成豁达人生观的最好的方式。
Once I had married and begun working, I found that the dream of living in another culture had vanished.
而当我成家工作以后，我发现，体验异国文化的梦想已经烟消云散了。
Daniel thought about this.
听了这番话后，丹尼尔若有所思。
His friends said that he would be insane to put his career on hold.
丹尼尔的朋友告诫他说，为了游历世界而把事业搁在一边，这是非常愚蠢的疯狂行为。
But he decided it wasn’t so crazy.
但丹尼尔并不认同。
After graduation, he worked as a waiter at college, a bike messenger and a house painter.
毕业后，他曾在大学校园端盘子，骑单车送报纸，还替人刷过墙。
With the money he earned, he had enough to go to Paris.
通过打工挣钱，他攒足了去巴黎的路费。
The night before he was to leave, I tossed in bed.
丹尼尔离开的前一晚上，我在床上辗转难眠。
I was trying to figure out something to say.
我想准备好明天要说的话。
Nothing came to mind. Maybe, I thought, it wasn“t necessary to say anything.
但脑袋里却一片空白，也许根本就无须说什么，我安慰自己。
What does it matter in the course of a life-time if a father never tells a son what he really thinks of him?
即使一位父亲一辈子都不曾亲口告诉儿子自己对他的看法，那又如何?
But as I stood before Daniel, I knew that it does matter.
然而，当我面对着丹尼尔，我知道这非常重要。
My father and I loved each other.
我爱我的父亲，他也爱我。
Yet, I always regretted never hearing him put his feelings into words and never having the memory of that moment.
但我从未听他说过什么心里话，更没有这些感人的回忆，为此，我总是心怀遗憾。
Now, I could feel my palms sweat and my throat tighten.
现在，我能感觉到自己手心冒汗，喉咙也在打结。
Why is it so hard to tell a son something from the heart?
为什么对儿子说几句心里话这么困难?
My mouth turned dry, and I knew I would be able to get out only a few words clearly.
我的嘴巴变得干涩，我想我顶多能够清晰地吐出几个字而已。
“Daniel,” I said, “if I could have picked, I would have picked you.”
“丹尼尔，”我终于挤出了一句，“如果上帝让我选择谁是我的儿子，我始终会选你。”
That“s all I could say.
这是我说的唯一一句话。
I wasn”t sure he understood what I meant.
我不知道丹尼尔是否理解了这句话。
Then he came toward me and threw his arms around me.
但他扑过来伸出胳膊抱住了我。
For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there was just Daniel and me in our home by the sea.
那一刻，整个世界都消失了，只剩下我和丹尼尔站在海边的小屋里。
He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn“t understand what he was saying.
丹尼尔也在说着什么，但泪水已经模糊了我的双眼，我一个字也没听进去。
All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine.
当他的脸紧贴着我时，我感觉到了他下巴的胡子楂。
And then, the moment ended.
然后，一切恢复原样。
I went to work, and Daniel left a few hours later with his girlfriend.
我继续工作，丹尼尔几个小时后带着女友离开了。
That was seven weeks ago, and I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends.
七个星期过去了。周末在海边散步时，我会想起丹尼尔。
Thousands of miles away, somewhere out past the ocean waves breaking on the deserted shore, he might be scurrying across Boulevard Saint Germain, strolling through a musty hallway of the Louvre, bending an elbow in a Left Bank cafe.
几千英里之外的某个地方，横跨这个荒芜海岸的茫茫大海，丹尼尔也许正飞奔着穿越圣热蒙大道，或者漫步在卢浮宫散发着霉味的走廊上，又或者正托着下巴，坐在左岸咖啡馆里憩息。
What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite.
我对丹尼尔说的那些话，既晦涩又老套。
It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
空洞无文。然而，它却道出了一切。
篇4：爱在无语时的英语散文
有关爱在无语时的英语散文
In the doorway of my home, I looked closely at the face of my 23-year-old son, Daniel, his backpack by his side. We were saying good-bye. In a few hours he would be flying to France. He would be staying there for at least a year to learn another language and experience life in a different country.
It was a transitional time in Daniel‘s life, a passage, a step from college into the adult world. I wanted to leave him some words that would have some meaning, some significance beyond the moment.
But nothing came from my lips. No sound broke the stillness of my beachside home. Outside, I could hear the shrill cries of sea gulls as they circled the ever changing surf on Long Island. Inside, I stood frozen and quiet, looking into the searching eyes of my son.
What made it more difficult was that I knew this was not the first time I had let such a moment pass. When Daniel was five, I took him to the school-bus stop on his first day of kindergarten. I felt the tension in his hand holding mine as the bus turned the corner. I saw colour flush his cheeks as the bus pulled up. He looked at me-as he did now.
What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay? And then he walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared inside. And the bus drove away. And I had said nothing.
A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out. With his mother, I drove him to William and Mary College in Virginia. His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates, and when he met us the next morning, he was sick. He was coming down with mononucleosis, but we could not know that then. We thought he had a hangover.
In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home. I tried to think of something to say to give him courage and confidence as he started this new phase of life.
Again, words failed me. I mumbled something like, ”Hope you feel better Dan.“ And I left.
Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities. How many times have we all let such moments pass? A boy graduates from school, a daughter gets married. We go through the motions of the ceremony, but we don‘t seek out our children and find a quiet moment to tell them what they have meant to us. Or what they might expect to face in the years ahead.
How fast the years had passed. Daniel was born in New Orleans, LA., in 1962, slow to walk and talk, and small of stature. He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm, outgoing nature and was popular with his peers. He was coordinated and 6)agile, and he became adept in sports.
Baseball gave him his earliest challenge. He was an outstanding pitcher in Little League, and eventually, as a senior in high school, made the varsity, winning half the team‘s games with a record of five wins and two losses. At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team‘s most valuable player.
His finest hour, though, came at a school science fair. He entered an exhibit showing how the circulatory system works. It was primitive and crude, especially compared to the fancy, computerized, blinking-light models entered by other students. My wife, Sara, felt embarrassed for him.
It turned out that the other kids had not done their own work-their parents had made their exhibits. As the judges went on their rounds, they found that these other kids couldn‘t answer their questions. Daniel answered every one. When the judges awarded the Albert Einstein Plaque for the best exhibit, they gave it to him.
By the time Daniel left for college he stood six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds. He was muscular and in superb condition, but he never pitched another inning, having given up baseball for English literature. I was sorry that he would not develop his athletic talent, but proud that he had made such a mature decision.
One day I told Daniel that the great failing in my life had been that I didn‘t take a year or two off to travel when I finished college. This is the best way, to my way of thinking, to broaden oneself and develop a larger perspective on life. Once I had married and begun working, I found that the dream of living in another culture had vanished.
Daniel thought about this. His friends said that he would be insane to put his career on hold. But he decided it wasn‘t so crazy. After graduation, he worked as a waiter at college, a bike messenger and a house painter. With the money he earned, he had enough to go to Paris.
The night before he was to leave, I tossed in bed. I was trying to figure out something to say. Nothing came to mind. Maybe, I thought, it wasn‘t necessary to say anything.
What does it matter in the course of a life-time if a father never tells a son what he really thinks of him? But as I stood before Daniel, I knew that it does matter. My father and I loved each other. Yet, I always regretted never hearing him put his feelings into words and never having the memory of that moment. Now, I could feel my palms sweat and my throat tighten. Why is it so hard to tell a son something from the heart? My mouth turned dry, and I knew I would be able to get out only a few words clearly.
“Daniel,” I said, “if I could have picked, I would have picked you.”
That‘s all I could say. I wasn‘t sure he understood what I meant. Then he came toward me and threw his arms around me. For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there was just Daniel and me in our home by the sea.
He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn‘t understand what he was saying. All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine. And then, the moment ended. I went to work, and Daniel left a few hours later with his girlfriend.
That was seven weeks ago, and I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends. Thousands of miles away, somewhere out past the ocean waves breaking on the deserted shore, he might be scurrying across Boulevard Saint Germain, strolling through a musty hallway of the Louvre, bending an elbow in a Left Bank café.
What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
篇5：爱在无语中800字作文
爱在无语中800字作文
夜已很深了。我骑着车回家，心情轻松得仿佛要飞起来。开了一个晚上的周末PARTY，还收到了一份别致的小礼物——一枚心形的小红石头别针，哈，真是开心啊！
正猜测着爸爸、妈妈是否已经睡熟，不觉已到了家。原准备冲进家门的我，在推开那扇虚掩的门后，却再也迈不开一步：冷冷清清的家，一盏寂寞的灯，桌上整整齐齐的碗碟，独自在沙发织毛衣的妈妈，一路上的种种猜测瞬间便成虚幻，我不由怔在门口。
妈妈早已笑迎过来，不知为何，我竟有点心虚侧过头向里看看：“爸爸呢？”“噢，他今天有事，没回家吃饭，快吃吧，刚热过的.。”
在妈妈殷切的注视下，我慢慢捧起饭碗。而与此同时，原先在心底奔流的快乐却一点一点冻结起来，我的心，也开始下沉。
饭是温热的，而我却吃不出什么味道来；我只听到自己的心跳声，越来越响，似乎要将整个世界都弥漫……织毛衣？这整个晚上，他就这样过来的？就这样一直织着毛衣，等我回家？是不是时而放下手中的毛衣，走到窗口向外看，期望我的身影会在刹那间出现在妈妈的眼前？是不是不停地看钟，倾听钟的每一次敲响，冷了又热，一次一次重复相同的过程？是不是一直听着窗外的声音，猜想偶尔跳过的脚步声会不会在门口停下？而十年来，又这样等过我多少次？
妈妈的唇边顿时绽开一丝微笑：“香吗？今天是我的生日。”她那欢悦的神色犹如一把匕首，深深刺入我的心，这些年了，做女儿的却连她的生日都记不住……
妈妈不知何时已走过来，仿佛已明白了一切，把手轻轻地搭上我的肩。那一瞬间，在泪水前搭起的长堤忽然崩溃，我再也忍不住了，转身便扑入她的怀中……
篇6：爱在无语行动间散文
爱在无语行动间散文
大地微寒，初雪潮湿了整个空间。黑夜袭击了最后的白天，灯光把朦胧的夜色渲染。我们只要走近，而不必呼喊，便觉得心灵的融合无间。
到的是有底线的呀，喜欢用年轻的风采把青春点燃，老去了便没有什么遗憾。
有时那咯噔噔的鞋底叩响台阶的声音，会吸引我的注意，不再急于知道那是谁，而是呆坐在椅子上，静静地谛听它的来去音律。仿佛那能洞见那人的心率，揣摩那人的脉搏，感知那人的性情，不是吗？
有时那一句渺茫的歌声打动了我，我会随声和唱，那青春的旋律，那鲜明的节奏，那响亮的节拍……都叩打在我的心上，让我的心神难以平静，以至于手舞足蹈。
有时那鲜亮的色彩，别致的造型，新颖的款式，是我做出了好似与我年龄不相称的举动：凝眸注视，仿佛是在观赏暗恋的情人，心中有难以启齿的羞涩，脸颊有难以掩饰的绯红。
一场初雪，浇灭了大地持续多日的燥热，送来了一个令人瑟瑟发抖的严冬。
一时间，短装褪净，皮装毛货全副武装，也不管新旧时兴，只要能保暖便万事大吉了。
没有预备衣服的，便只好口中哈气，鼻涕暗淌，瑟瑟发抖，怨天怨地怨菩萨。
驼了背，弓了腰，一个典型的职业病患者，便是我。虽说捂了毛衣，套了马甲，也没有多冷，但五六十本作文改下来，不恢复本像打回原形才怪呢？
而心中又生出些许奢望，错过的机会会回来！
错过的机会会回来吗？
已经教书教了二十多年了，在北山教书少算也已八年挂零，许多梦想都在冲撞之中破灭了。前些年在地市的报刊上发表短诗，没有领取稿酬，似乎是心中觉得处在刊缝中的位置扫兴，加之编辑的.随意删减使原作走样，而没有回应稿酬。再投时，便不中了。从此一怒之下，焚了所有的习作，发誓再不写诗。
生命的迂回往往不又人所想，辗转几年的静止与心灵的煎熬，让我重又执笔以简短的文字书写心声。尽管三句半，无深意，不成文，但足以告慰余生。
书法最卖力，只下苦工，不求成法，成法反而拘束人性。
聊以涂鸦的画作，实质是拙劣的模仿，有半分形似罢了。
总体看来，我是一个庸才，很“孬”，文韬武略不好心计，待人接物太直，也不喜好交友与交游。所以混到如今，朋友没有几个，活动不怎么有能量。只是专注地教书，更专注地习字——抄诗。这就是我的生活。
因种种原因，戒了烟，戒了酒，带着一家三口缩在僻远之地幽暗之室，能不叫做悲剧？也至少算个正剧吧。
僵化的脑袋似乎受的传统教育太多，不愿改变只是认命，终老一生就这样如何？
想起母亲的那句“人不知道天知道”的话，我似乎有点盲目的乐观，努力着、坚持着，相信冥冥之中自有神助。
太阳每天都是新的，爱在路上，人在旅途，前世的宿孽，今生的过客，何时能够如愿？合十双手，忘记俗累，找回自己。
篇7：爱在牵手时
爱在牵手时
・ 对爱人有一种诗意盎然的称呼，叫做“牵手”，缘起于台湾高山族平浦人。人类居然可以这样相爱，不计贫富贵贱，只是为了爱而爱，单纯的使聪明的现代人不敢相信。我喜欢“牵手”这个朴素而且带有动感的词语，爱的真谛，尽在其中，爱的温馨，扑面而来。当人类进化到不相信爱情的阶段，“牵手”则成为一组不褪色的照片，剪辑着互相阻隔的时空。・ 伸出手去，牵住的不仅是一只手，而且是一个跟自己生命一样重要的人。苏芮的“牵手”，那歌声，不是单纯热烈，而是苍凉激越，使人怅然若失。・ 《诗经》中有这样闪光的句子“生死契阔，与子相悦；执子之手，与子偕老”，千百年来，平凡和卑微的人类，就这样走了过 涉过一条条的不归河。・ 张爱玲说：执子之手是最悲哀不过的诗句，因为牵手之后是放手，“放手”是一个恐惧的动词，看似潇洒，实际上是泪干心枯后的`绝望，“放手”的时候，已然无爱，即使多年的爱溢满万水千山，倾国倾城。“放手”是人世间最凄烈的场景，尤其是在渡口一类的地方，江流岸凝，帆起舟行，此岸彼岸，放手-----―放 即成永绝。那么放手后呢？“微雨燕双飞，落花人独立”，下意识伸出手去，才发现已经无手可握，空荡荡的只是满袖的秋风。・ 我经常在不经意间感动自己。・ 原来，这就是“牵手”，对爱人的称呼。也许，过了十年，今生都不会再有这样一种爱情。不要忽视年轻时感动你的东西，因为那是纯真，虽然，我们已真的不在年轻；虽然，静默无语时潸然......篇8：爱在离别时
就在明天，我们将要启程离开这里。我们这里留下了很多珍贵的回忆，也收获了很多实用的技能，可以说这次短短十天的实践活动的经历是我们的独家记忆，往后很多年，我们这样一个庞大的队伍，可能再也不会有这样聚在一起，去经历一些什么的机会了。所以我也很珍惜这最后的时光。
今天的八小，蒙蒙细雨中，三年级诵读《三字经》的声音格外洪亮，二年级的《不完美小孩》也给校园增添了一道别样的风景。虽然遂溪的天气多变，下着雨太阳就出来了，或是隔十多分钟就下一次雨，明天的文艺汇演真的具有很多不变性，但孩子们都在努力准备着最后的表演。
希望明天，晴天社会实践队和孩子们会等到一个真正的晴天。
篇9：爱在离别时作文
天使说：“心若有温暖，爱不会流浪。”――题记
往事如烟，不知同窗是否还记得从前那些轻狂的日子？
曾经一起聆听窗外细雨，一起在操场疯狂追逐，一起放肆地大笑，一起任性地叛逆；难过时一起伤心落泪，开心时一起放逐笑容。成长的路上，我亲爱的朋友! 因为有你们，才使我的童年充满甜蜜的回忆；因为有你们，我才明白什么是真正的友谊；因为有你们，才使我现在懂得珍惜。
还记得，毕业时最后的离别吗？
那天，和蔼的班主任依旧站在那张讲台桌前，依旧是一张慈祥的脸孔，脸上挂着微笑，可不同的是：他眼里闪着和同学们一样的泪光。那一刻，我看出了目光中带着不舍，还有丝丝的留恋。他双拳紧握着，带着微微颤抖的声音，宣布我们即将毕业的消息：“同学们，这将是――我们最后一次共同呆在这间教室里了，你们长大了，羽翼已经丰满了，你们终于可以飞向更高的蓝天了。我希望在未来可以看到大家能够像雄鹰一样展翅飞翔，飞向更高、更蓝的天空！”也许是有些激动，老师脱下眼镜，仿佛在擦拭着什么。我愣住了，久久地注视着老师。青春远去，白发染，岁月流逝，六年了，不知不觉老师教了我们六年了，一直以来，他总是孜孜不倦的……
此刻，教室里静的可怕，大家都沉默了，因为这最后的离别。有人在握手，有人在拥抱，有人在哭泣。猛然间，我发现，相处了六年的同学，原来对我是如此的重要。难过，抑制，想用手去抓住些什么，却什么也无法挽留住。或许就在那一刻，我的心头播下了一颗爱的种子。
铃响了，放学了，一切都结束了。可就在那一刻，所有的恐慌、焦虑、不安与不舍，都一齐涌上了我的心头。同学陆续走了，只有我还呆呆地望着空荡荡的教室。“就这样结束了？”我的心也像这教室，空荡荡的。我在心中不断地呼喊：“不，别走，回来呀！”
日子再回不到从前了。我拖着铅一样重的步伐，缓缓走出校门。回过头的那一刻，我在心中默念：别了，母校。别了，老师们同学们。
离别，能使人清醒，能教会人们心怀宽容，善待身边的每一个人，珍惜与他人相处的美好时光。
爱，在离别时，如钟声悠扬，穿透我一生，用宽容，用善待!
篇10：爱在木棉花开时
爱在木棉花开时 -资料
情歌在梦中流淌
思念在远方飞翔
星星月亮的海洋
你我向往的故乡
……
木棉花儿开放
红红的木棉花开我心等待
灿烂的木棉花开山歌如海
暖暖的木棉花开传情递爱
木棉花开凤凰飞来
季节总是在不经意间转换，春去春又来，一首《木棉花开》让我如梦初醒，现已是三月，木棉花正绽放的季节，火红的花朵已缀满了枝头，在暖暖的阳光下，娇艳、灿烂。
人总是很奇怪的动物，什么时候喜欢什么，什么时候不喜欢什么，总是后知后觉。以前热爱于樱花，由于它热烈、纯洁、高尚，它是希望和爱的象征，盛开时满树烂漫，如云似霞。
渐渐地发现，其实爱木棉甚过樱花。偶然得知，木棉花的花语：珍惜身边的人，珍惜眼前的幸福！或许这就是我们所追求的，热爱生活，珍惜生命中所拥有的一切，在一份简单而朴实的生活中，活得快快乐乐。
木棉花，如火焰般美丽的花，即使花落，也依旧仰望着湛蓝的苍穹，没有任何一片花瓣分离，就像倔强的孩子，不服输。木棉的花儿是不需要任何绿叶衬托的，它会开出自己独有有风采，绽放那最灿烂的笑容，如同感情，不需要任何的装饰，记忆很美，爱亦很真。那些美丽的誓言，只是爱情的点缀，随着岁月的流逝逐渐暗淡无光。
晚风从窗隙里吹进来，带着一丝丝的春寒，房间里只剩下电脑屏幕散发着微弱的光，手上杯中的速溶咖啡氤氲着淡淡的雾气，浓香馥郁，缱绻在我的呼吸里。轻啜一口，唇齿留香。卡布奇诺，味道甜中带苦，却又始终如一的味道，
资料
预示着，等待就是甜中带苦，怀着忠实的`真心，不会变心的等待。这一直是我独爱的原因。
此时的你，在网络彼端，焦急。
我知道是因为我只轻唤你的名字，你感受到了我的孤单，感受到我想要说些什么，却什么都不说。
缩小的对话框在任务栏上不停的闪烁，我迟疑了一会儿才打开，那些看似平淡的字句，却深深地触动了我的心，《我为你故》
想你，念你，
我为你故，静立人间！
背负青天，以念斗天，
我为你故，破碎宇间！
醒何妨，醉何妨，
我为你故，淡念纸间！
三世轮回，起灭轮回，
我为你故，魂断桥间！
江南三月，烟雨朦胧，
我为你故，写意诗间！
人情世故，视若未睹，
我为你故，心水无澜！
此刻，我无语，静默为好。
我曾说过，在喧嚣中突然沉默，不代表不想说话，是我不知道该对你说些什么。我懂得你对我的好，而我，不知道在逃避什么，还是在担心什么。
女子甜美的声音自音箱流出，倾泄了一室。我静静地聆听着，那轻柔的旋律诉说着一帘幽梦，甜蜜中掺和着淡淡的忧伤。这首《半情歌》是你很喜欢的歌曲，你对我说，听后一定会喜欢上它。
凝目窗外，幕色里，是谁折一枝悲伤挂在树梢，在我的眼帘深处中绽放一树的洁白。像是一个个未染烟尘的精灵，滋润了这一季的繁花。
脑海中突然闪过一张灿烂的笑颜，即使只看了一眼，那张脸却难以忘记。如同一块深深的烙印，永远都无法抹去。忆起你说的那句话，你我只是静静走过，无意带走那些岁月，且让时间记下幸福的瞬间，待来年携手回望，相笑无言。如此，我甘愿守着孤独，一直等待，在无声的岁月里，静候每一季的花开花落。
篇11：爱在雪舞时
雪落在树梢头，树梢将他们稳稳拖住，生怕它们落在地上地上被弄脏了衣服，雪落在屋檐角，屋檐让他们停驻于此，一同感受屋檐下的温馨。
面对此般美景，我再也无法局限于家中了，没有多加衣服，便轻轻的来到皑皑的世界中，跟前那无比纯洁的雪，让我每走一步都很小心翼翼。我想：这一次会是一次灵魂的涤荡，心灵的洗涤，本想大声表达自己的感受，但话到嘴边有咽了下去，因为我怕惊动沉睡中的大地。更怕打乱那淑女般的雪的婀娜的舞姿，蓦然，我驻足，任凭雪在我脸上亲吻，闭上眼睛，用心倾听雪的声音，这时，我似乎与雪融为一体，我爱这里，爱的深沉……
雪将气温下降，却抬起了人们的嘴角，大家在雪中尽情的欢乐着，无忧无虑。
由此，我想到一些人，他们在自己短暂的一生中忠于事业，任劳任怨，只为换来人民的幸福生活。雪正是象征着那些默默奉献的人们，不是吗？我爱雪，爱的深沉……
绍兴县马鞍镇山海小学六年级:徐静芳
篇12：爱在离别时散文
爱在离别时散文分享
失去后才珍惜，还有什么意义？还是会有人不肯去忘记，忘不了那一段回忆。刹那间，她开始怀疑，自己的命运，仿佛像一场电影，不断地在重复上映。
——题记
父亲离开有两年的时间了，其音容笑貌却依旧。心中思念的浪潮，波涛汹涌，不断拍打着心灵深处的湖畔。尘封的记忆，在回忆的大漠中，慢慢苏醒。父亲，如果时光能够倒流，我多想亲口对你说一声：父亲，对不起，我爱你！
我是一个从小生活在温馨世界中的女孩，但却始终读不懂父亲的爱，直到父亲离开了，我才恍然大悟，只可惜一切都已成为了回忆，再也不可能挽回……
仍旧记得，小时候，父亲曾经说过，我是个难产儿，足足在母亲肚子里恋恋不舍地逗留了三天三夜，才甘愿睁开眼，看看这个陌生的世界。因为是家里唯一的孩子，故而，父亲自小视我为掌上明珠，关爱倍加。因此我也从小就和骄傲自大，唯我独尊的性格相伴长大。一直以来，父亲对我的爱，我都认为是理所当然的。只因为，他是我的父亲。
有父亲的日子，幸福在指尖缠绕，快乐在心间流淌。从小集万千宠爱于一身的我，就像一尾无忧无虑的小鲤鱼，每天都悠闲地倘佯在温馨的汪洋中，没有了孤单，没有了寂寞，以致唯我独尊，骄傲自大，不知天高地厚。我从来都不知道，外面世界的风景如何千姿百态，大浪如何排空，更不曾想过，没有了父亲的日子，我会变成什么样子。每次生日，我只是一个劲儿地吵着父亲要生日礼物。而父亲，也总是尽他所能满足我的一切愿望，纵使是我无理的请求。然而，父亲的生日，我却从来都不知道，更不用说送他生日礼物。
我刁蛮，我任性，甚至做任何事情，我根本就不会考虑别人的感受。有时候家里来了客人，父亲叫我去倒茶，我不仅不去，而且还在客人面前对父亲大吼大叫道：凭什么？这是每次当父亲要求我“干活”时，我不变的口头禅。而且，当吃饭时，我总是当着客人的面，挑三拣四，这让父亲难堪又无奈。
因为我的这性子，父亲经常告诫我说，女孩子家，要尽量学会勤劳、温柔、体贴，切莫高傲自大，不然以后走出家门，肯定会处处碰壁。我不懂，亦不愿意懂得。我只知道，有父亲陪伴的日子，这些都只是海市蜃楼，都只是父亲天马行空的想象。父亲还一如既往地告诉我说，女孩子家至少要懂得基本的家务活，要懂得理财，要懂得孝顺，这是最基本的。而我，却总是当做耳边风，因为父亲会陪着我一辈子，宽容我一辈子。桀骜不羁的我，总是这么天真地幻想着。
直到有一天，我终于真正地走出了家门，融入到了社会。我才亲身体会到父亲所说的那一番意味深长的话语。由于从未做过任何家务活儿的我，竟然连最基本的整理个人的生活所需都不懂，以致经常被同事取笑。然而，因为一向高傲自大的性格，我不仅不愿意虚心向别人学习，还经常抱怨父亲，说是父亲的宠爱亲手摧毁了我，我一直都自私地认为。
每次听到我的抱怨，父亲都没有生气，而是一心一意地开导我，甚至有时怕我一个人在外面孤单寂寞，父亲还经常打电话陪着我说话聊天。而我，总是“嗯、啊、哦”地，随意应付了一下父亲，甚至都没有主动给父亲打过，哪怕一个电话，除了有事相求。
时光荏苒，岁月如梭。纷繁的社会，矫情的花朵，在经历一番风吹雨打的洗礼后，终于让我逐渐成长，也让我开始远离父亲，甚至是开始淡忘了父亲。父亲每次打电话过来，没说两句，我就着急地说，没事就挂了啊，我还有事。追根究底，始终是因为，我不喜欢听到父亲没玩没了的唠叨。然，我却始终不知道，我的这种态度，带给父亲的伤害有多大，我不知道每次当我按下接听键的那一刻，电话那头，泪水早已爬满了父亲那沧桑的脸颊，这些都是后来，母亲告诉我的。
当我花费了很长的一段时间，终于学会了最基本的生存技巧后，我和父亲的联系就更加少了，甚至一年半载地才能见上那么稀有的一面。有时，纵使是重要的节日，父亲做好丰盛的饭菜，从早盼到晚地，等待着我回家的时候，我都是在寻找各种各样的理由推脱。父亲没说什么，他总以为我工作很忙，分不开身，也就不再勉强。只是，每次电话那头挂线后，父亲的那一声声沉重的叹息声，却总会情不自禁地萦绕在我的心灵深处，就像一缕青烟，挥之不去。
在漫长的等待和期望中，父亲总是站在秋风萧瑟的门口，静静地，望眼欲穿，却还是等不到他最爱的女儿出现的身影。多年的劳累，终于使得身体一向健壮的父亲，挣扎着倒下了。然，为了不让在外地工作的我担心，父亲还是隐藏了他的真实病情，依旧笑着告诉我说，只是小感冒，过几天就会好的，不用担心。每次听到父亲这样说，我也再没怎么多问，也没怎么在意，这是我一贯的作风。而母亲，每次却都是泪眼相和。我以为，那都只是母亲思念我，罢了。
我依旧是我行我素，也没怎么想念，理会过父亲。因为，在我心中，对于父亲，我始终有一种说不出的感觉。我对父亲的爱中，始终却参杂着丝丝缕缕，斩不断理还乱的怨恨，缘由却无从寻觅。久而久之，父亲逐渐成为了我心中一个熟悉而陌生的名词，逐渐地，变成无可厚非的事实了。
梦总是在最美的时候惊醒。离别，总是来得那么地匆忙，那么地让人不知所措。仍旧记得，父亲去世前几天，因为病痛的折磨，已经快没有说话的力气了，而他却依旧惦记着我这个不孝的女儿。父亲说想再见我最后一面，而我却一而再，再而三地找各种各样的借口推脱，每一次都不忘这一句：过年回家再说吧，现在很忙，分不开身。其实，我并不是因为忙的原因，而是认为这是父亲无视我的工作，是在无理取闹。直到在一个风雨交加的晚上，母亲突然来了一个急电，按下接听键的那一刻，泪终于打湿了我干涸的脸颊，敲痛了我念想的心。
父亲走了，一向视我为生命的父亲，走了，带着遗憾，悄悄地走了。
父亲走后，往事如一场纷繁的电影，不断地在眼前重复上映。眺望往昔，我心痛如绞，泪如雨下，仿佛心中的那一片天地，顷刻间倒塌了。我再也顾不上任何的事情，急忙连夜赶回家，为最爱的父亲奔丧。那一夜，天真的很冷，很冷，仿佛是一柄锋利的长剑，瞬间穿透了我脆弱的心。而母亲的一番话，更让我悔不当初。母亲告诉我说，父亲这一辈子最放不下心的，也是唯一牵挂的，就是我这个常年在外工作的宝贝女儿。因为，从我经常挂他电话的那一刻起，父亲就始终觉得我还在怨恨他，他始终感觉是他对不起我，他对我始终怀着一种深深的愧疚感。他说，他不该宠坏我。那一刻，我才知道，原来，父亲前几次一直打电话“请求”我回家，只是为见我这个他付出了所有爱的女儿的最后一面，只是为了能亲口跟我说声：对不起。父亲将他一辈子的爱都给了我，而我却连他的最后一面，都不愿意去相见，徒留父亲孑然一身，伤心遗憾地离开了这个伤悲的人世。
父亲，终于还是走了，带着对我这个唯一女儿的牵挂，遗憾地走了。
夜，静了。形孤影孑，在深秋的黑夜中，静立，怀想。
今夜的月亮看上去很美，美得然人舍不得睡。楼顶的风总是轻轻地吹，吹来吹去吹，却不干眼角的泪。也许，漫漫人生路，总有一些故事叫人无由的伤悲，总有一些故事只能留下回味，就像抱紧手臂拢不住心碎，所有的'眼泪都始终换不回，哪怕一个人的追悔。
最爱我的父亲，终于还是带着不舍和牵挂，走了，父亲还没来得及听见他最爱的女儿，对他说声“我爱你”，就这样走了。父亲走得是那么地彻底，又那么地不舍。父亲，我亲爱的父亲，我想说，我真的很想对你说，父亲，这一切都不是你的错，是我，是你的这个刁蛮的女儿不懂你，是我的任性，践踏了你对我付出的那一份无私的爱，父亲，女儿错了，父亲，远在天国的你，还能听到女儿无声却胜似有声的呼唤和忏悔吗？父亲，我错了——
父亲，我最爱的父亲，如果有来生，如果我还有机会再做您的女儿，我一定不会再惹您生气，不会再伤害你的心，我一定会亲口在你耳边，轻轻地对你说声，父亲，我爱你！
世事的变化无常，总是让人措手不及。还没来不及说再见，最爱我的父亲已经永远地离我而去，留下的只是遗落满地的相思。抬头，仰头望空，泪水却还是汹涌地浸湿了我紧绷的脸颊。抓不住的情绪，逃不了的陷阱，凌乱的心情。这样纠缠下去，不知该怎么去抚平？
我爱你，这一对父亲最真挚的爱的话语，再也没有机会说出口，徒留满心的念想，永远地埋藏在了心灵深处的湖底。
爱，总是在离别之前，才让每个人都能幡然醒悟，醍醐灌顶，然，一切都已成为了风中的记忆，随时间慢慢消散，哪怕是残留的一丝丝气息，都无法触摸。曾经犯下的错，该如何去放下，该如何去放手？我们都无所得知。只知道，再怎么去挽回，也于事无补，一道深深的裂痕，隐隐约约地，掠过……
