The Face

每次从奶奶家回来，都会阴郁一番。

记得初九的时候给爷爷过生日，奶奶家老老少少16个人浩浩荡荡的在一家挺高级的酒店里聚了餐。从11点多去一直到三点多回来，整个人像快崩溃了一样。什么都感觉不到了，只觉得当时间要用来熬的时候，真是分秒都是折磨。

看了看一本叫做The Lover的英文小说，三行五行便能见到再熟悉不过的词汇，face。不知是一次，当读到每本书或文章前几个字时，即使不了解作者的故事，那种共鸣的感觉，总是让我忍不住鼻子发酸，就像那次的那本《我把爸妈弄丢了》。我不知道别人读来是什么样的感受，只是翻开第一页的时候，我已经不再是自己了。书中到处都是自己的影子，自己的感觉像乘着风翻飞在眼前的花片草叶，一点一滴，突破了内心倔强的防线。我害怕面对真实的感觉，就像我一直在人前表现的固执与不愿认输。朋友曾经说过，如果我不那么在乎面子，将什么都说出来，或许会更好。

“At the age of fifteen I had the face of pleasure, and yet I had no knowledge of plesure.”-----The Lover

So what sort of face I put in front of those people at that time? I don't have the exact impression as they do. From their point of view, I am so great and so kind as a child that can understand everything in the adults' world. Everying that may hurt me and everying I must take it for granted. If left misunderstanded, then pretend to be will do good to everyone, expecially for me. But who knows? God knows. God can do nothing even though I keep praying   to him everyday. However, that's a kind of comfort, I know , I can comfort myself.

Through the whole time at the dinner party I had the face of pleasure, and yet I had no knowledge of the sort of peasure which they teach me to be.