夏天从蝉鸣里漫出来，
风吹动白衬衫，
也吹动十七岁的刘海。
冰块在杯中越变越小，
午后的影子，
却被我们越坐越长。
没有人站起来——
好像不散场，
夏天就不会走。
Summer spills out of the cicadas’ song.The wind stirs white shirts,and seventeen-year-old fringes.The ice in our glasses grows smaller and smaller,while the afternoon shadowsgrow longer the longer we sit.No one stands up —as if, as long as we don’t leave,summer won’t go.
“有些永远很短，短到只够一个下午那么长。”
“Some forevers are short — just long enough for one afternoon.”