致自己

傍晚6点钟，夕阳已快要西下。刚给某个女生说再见，一个人不开心的在北京华联的广场上，一边咬着桃花甜筒一边听着从橱窗里飘出来的歌。风微凉，天空真蓝啊。突然间某首磁性的嗓音传进传进耳朵，我嘴里含着甜的要死的奶油混合物慢慢咽进肚里，却不小心被某一两句歌词戳中心脏。

What are words, If you really don't mean them,When you say them.

What are words, If they're only for good times, Then they don't.

When it's love, Yeah, you say them out-loud those words, They never go away, They live on, even when we're gone.

致那个早已经忘记了向别人诉说什么的自己。

致那个好像看惯了世事风景心已坚硬犹如铁石的自己。

致那个柔软早已消失不见喜欢叫陶陶的自己。

致那个将藏满心事的箱子被密封在某个角落再不被打开的自己。

致那个上苍赋予的天使，我想要好好守护在你身边的自己。

致陶先生。