主题：【原创】相见，有一种痛叫无法拥有 -- 齐眉

美丽的女孩，为什么再次见到你的时候，我的心会更加的痛？

人生若只初相见，何事秋风悲画扇？第一次见你，是在去邮局的路上，阳光一如既往的灿烂，晒得人有点倦怠。不经意发现走在前面的你，玲珑有致的身材，却不似一般女孩样曝露，轻柔顺滑的长发，规矩的洒在肩头，随着步伐轻轻跳动，一跳便又是一步了，脚下的人字拖却仿佛并不会离开地面，闲散而又有点内八字的向前挪动着。一瞬间，正午的阳光里，一个水瓶形的身材渐渐变得模糊，又渐渐变得高大，我知道，那是一个男孩在你的背影面前把自己变得渺小。

还是忍不住加快了脚步，在超过你的时候悄悄扫视着你的脸颊，长长的睫毛，细细而微微上挑的眼睛，挺立的小鼻子下边是湿润的薄薄嘴唇，这一切只是出现在那擦肩而过的一下子。哦，是红灯了，我该摆个什么Pose？在你踱到我身边的时候。

虽然没有看你，但我知道你正向我这边张望，偷偷把微驼的背挺了挺，脸上只是更烫了，手也不知是该依旧垂着还是放进裤兜里更好，天好热啊，感觉脸上突然多了许多汗珠。还是忍不住扭头看你，桃花一般的白，桃花一般的红完美的混合然后呈现，隽秀清丽的脸庞使人迷茫，可惜你的目光绕过了我，望向远方。

从邮局回办公室的路上，阳光也变得温暖，海风也变得和缓，你依然在不远的前方慢慢踱着。其实这个下午也没有多少事要做了，何不享受一下久违的阳光？故意放慢脚步，视线却不听话的集中在一个身影上。

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下楼去拿信，该死的Citibank，只是开个户需要这么长时间吗？心里咒骂着转过身，却发现你手足无措的站在那个蹲在地上整理信件的大妈后边等待着，那张已经有点模糊的面容一下子清晰起来，在脑海里刻出一个更深的轮廓。我突然想起了很多，在那些个不经意的时刻曾经出现的各种想法，我会凝视你的眼睛，抚摸你的头发，牵你的手，甚至亲吻你的面颊（或许是你，或许不是你）。。。也许现在更现实的是对你说“hi，may I have the pleasure to buy you a drink?”，然后耸耸肩笨拙的加一句“maybe tonight or later, if you like”。。。出门的时候差点被猛然站起的大妈撞个趔趄。

电梯门关上的一刹那心没来由的痛起来，是不是如果从来没有相见，它便不会似这般的痛？。。。

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悲花怜秋，西人如何懂；

情到涌时，竟是一般痴。

[MP=320,240]/audio/0807/18781_14060709.mp3[/MP]

这是“曾经有一个ppmm在我面前，但是我却没有勇气表白，如果上天再给我一个机会。。。”的知音体写法么？

也许这就是你们见到Brad Pitt或者Orlando Bloom时的感觉吧，只不过我更喜欢陌生的普通人。

当然你也可以把这看作是YY贴，我也不会说你错，呵呵。

看来你是猩猩饭啊。。。OTZ

尊性啊？

蓝DI，如假包换。

咬出点血性再放出去。蓝滴，丢人啊。

谈何容易。。。

无他，YY而已

你这个, 没感觉, 梅花

你是否还记得读过大学英语的一篇课后阅读《feels like spring》？你是否也曾为其中的情节所感动？

往下翻，你会看到一个关于邂逅的故事。。。

你可以选择不相信，你可以选择嗤之以鼻。没关系，我相信你已从生活中学到了很多，而同时你是否发现你可能也失去了很多。。。

FEEL LIKE SPRING

by Milton Kaplan

I stop the corner drugstore for a breakfast and coffee, and then I race to the subway station and gallop down the steps to catch my usual train. I hold on to the strap and make believe I'm reading my newspaper, but I keep glancing at the people crowded in around me. I listen to them talk about their troubles and their friends, and I wish I had someone to talk to, someone to break the monotony of the long subway ride.

As we approach the 175th Street station, I begin to get tense again. She usually gets into the train at that station. She slips in gracefully, not pushing or shoving like the test, and she squeezes into a little space, clinging to the people and holding on to an office envelop that probably contains her lunch. She never carries a newspaper or a book; I guess there isn't much sense in trying to read when you're smashed in like that.

There's a fresh outdoor look about her and I figure she must live in New Jersey. The Jersey crowd gets in at that stop. She has a sweet face with that scrubbed look that doesn't need powder or rouge. She never wears make-up except for lipstick. And her wavy hair is natural, just a nice light brown. And all she does is hold on to the pole and think her own thoughts, her eyes clear-blue and warm. I always like to watch her, but I have to be careful. I'm afraid she'd get angry and move away if she catches me at it, and then I won't have anyone, because she's my only real friend, even if she doesn't know it. I'm all alone in New York City and I guess I'm kind of shy and don't make friends easily. The fellows in the bank are all right but they have their own lives to lead, and besides, I can't ask anyone to come up to a furnished room; so they go their way and I go mine.

The city is getting me. It's too big and noisy----too many people for a fellow who's all by himself. I can't seem to get used to it .I'm used to the quiet of a small New Hampshire farm but there isn't any future on a New Hamshire farm any more; so after I was discharged from the Navy, I apply for this position in the bank and I got it. I suppose it's a good break but I'm kind of lonesome.

As I ride along, swaying to the motion of the car, I like to imagine that I'm friends with her. Sometimes I'm even attempted to smile at her, and say something like "Nice morning, isn't it?" But I'm scared. She might think I'm one of those wise guys and she'd freeze up and look right through me as if I didn't exist, and the next morning she wouldn't be there any more and I'd have no one to think about. I keep dreaming that maybe some day I'll get to know her. You know, in a casual way.

Like maybe she'd br coming through the door and someone pushes her and she brushes against me and she'd say quickly, "Oh, I beg you pardon, "and I'd lift my hat politely and answer, "That's perfectly all right, "and I'd smile to show her I meant it, and then she'd smile back at me and say , "nice day, isn't it ?"and I'd say, "Feel like spring. "And we wouldn't say anything more, but when she'd be ready to get off at 34th Street, she'd wave her finger a little at me and say, "Good-by, "and I'd tip my hat again.

The next morning when she'd come in, she'd see me and say "Hello, "or maybe, "Good morning, "and I'd answer and add something to show her I ready knew a little about spring. No wise crack because I wouldn't want her to think that I was one of those smooth-talking guys who pick up girls in the subway.

And after a while, we'd get a little friendlier and start talking about things like the weather or the news, and one day she'd say, "isn't it funny? Here we are talking every day and we don't even know each other's name. "And I'd stand up straight and tip my hat and say, "I'd like you to meet Mr. Thomas Pearse. "And she'd say very seriously , "How do you do Mr. Pearse .I want you meet Miss Elizabeth Altemose."

"Thomas,"she'd say,as if she were trying out the sound of it.

"What?"I'd ask.

"I can't possibly call you Thomas,"she'd say, "It's so formal."

"My friends call me Tommy,"I'd tell her.

"My friends call me Betty."

And that's the way it would be. Maybe after a while I'd mention the name of a good movie that was playing at the Music Hall and suggest that if she weren't doing anything in particular----And she would come right out with, "Oh, I'd love it! "I'd knock off a little earlier and meet her where she worked and we would go out to dinner somewhere. I'd ask some of the men at the bank for the name of a good restaurant. And I would talk to her and tell her about New Hampshire and maybe mention how lonesome I got, and if it's a really nice place and it's quiet and cozy, maybe I'd tell her how shy I was, and she'd be listening with shining eyes and she'd clasp her hands and lean over the table until I could smell the fragrance of her hair and she'd whisper, "I'm shy, too. "Then we'd both lean back and smile secretly, and we'd eat without saying much because , after all, what's there to say after that?

And after the movie, I'd take her home. She wouldn't want me to travel all the way out. "I live in New Jersey, "she'd say. "It's nice of you to offer to take me home but I couldn't ask you to make a long trip like that. Don't worry, I'll be all right. "But I'd take her arm and say, "Come on. I want to take you home. I like New Jersey. "And we'd take the bus across the George Washington Bridge with the Huston River flowing dark and mysterious below us, and then we'd be in New Jersey and we'd see the lights of small homes and she'd invite me in but I'd say it was too late and then she'd turn to me and say, "Then you must promise to come for dinner this Sunday. "And I'd promise and then---

The train is slowing down and the people are bracing themselves automatically for the stop. It's the 175th Street station. There's a big crowd waiting to get in. I look out anxiously for her but I don't see her anywhere and my heart sinks, and just little flowers on it. The door opens and the people start pushing in. She's caught in the rush and there's nothing she can do about it. She bangs into me and she grabs the strap I'm holding and hangs on it for dear life.

"I beg you pardon, "she gasps.

My hands are pinned down and I can't tip my hat but I answer politely, "That's all right."

The door close and the train begins to move. She has to hold on to my strap; there isn't any other place for her.

"Nice day ,isn't it? "she says.

The train swings around a turn and the wheels squealing on the tails sound like the birds singing in New Hampshire. My heart is pounding like mad.

"Feels like spring, "I say.

其实写的不错， 齐眉年轻呢, 这点够令人羡慕了。

真正的痛只可意会不难言传。泪都不会有， 只是没了魂。

有些事没有对错，它只是。。。就那样了。