在我们喝茶的时候我出了柜，但不再留眼泪，奇怪的是，这次的不再像10岁那年那次一样，留下鲜明的记忆。
This time we were having a cup of tea and I don't think there were tears though, strangely, I don't recall this coming out as vividly as the one when I was 10.
那些在风雨中的记忆，那些打着伞的人，那些溅泥的白布鞋，那些湿滑的过道，那些晶莹的眼泪潮湿的发，随着光明的到来而消失。
The memory of those storms, those Dazhao San people, those who splash of white mud cloth shoes, those slippery aisle, those crystal tears wet hair, with the advent of light disappear.
我的眼泪止不住的往下流，记忆中，这是父亲第一次打我，第一次……
I have tears streaming down unstoppable, memory, this is the first time my father hit me for the first time … …
我的眼泪流了下来，灌溉了下面柔软的小草，不知道来年，会不会开出一地的记忆和忧愁。
I have tears streaming down, irrigation the following soft grass, do not know the coming year, will not prescribe a way of memories and sadness.
我的眼泪流了下来，灌溉了下面柔软的小草，不知道来年，会不会开出一地的记忆和忧愁。
I have tears streaming down, irrigation the following soft grass, do not know the coming year, will not prescribe a way of memories and sadness.
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