我时常把自己的手掌伸在琉璃窗前，让阳光散懒的穿过。
仿佛可以看到每一个指尖都轻浮着少年时的青春，随着日落萎成墨色的残骸。
那是我曾经不经意脱下的岁月，混淆在时光里就那样变成了梦醒枕边的寂寞。
它们是暗紫色卑微的手印，上面残留着回忆的指纹。
I often put his hand stretched， let sunshine in coloured glaze window scattered lazy to go through。 As if can
To see each finger are frivolous when teenagers of youth， along with the sunset into inky withering
The wreck。 That"s I once casual time， off in time so confused into
The pillow we wake up loneliness。
They are dark purple humble handprint， it remains a recall of the fingerprint。