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刚看完了all jusr photos,很短的一篇短文,看到最后那部分
And there he is, standing next to Harry, in the middle of them all. Two pale, black haired men, one old enough to be the other\'s father. And nobody had remarked how they were holding hands in that picture. How Harry had grabbed his hand as the flash went off. The others must have noticed. But nobody said a thing. All those people he grew to admire, steadily, slowly letting things become almost comfortable, then comfortable, then trusting.
Then too close.
He brushes grey hair away from his eyes.
And now all that is left are photos.
而他在那里,站在Harry的旁边,在其他所有人中间。两个苍白,黑发的男人,一个老到足够做另一个的父亲。没有人意识到他们在相片里的双手是怎样交握的,Harry是怎样在闪光亮起的一刹那抓住了他的手。其他人必然注意到了,但是没有人说一个字。那所有的他逐渐开始欣赏的人(?),稳定而缓慢的让两人之间相处变得几近舒适,然后是舒适,再然后是信任。
然后是太过接近。
他将灰色的头发从眼前拨开。
而现在仅剩下相片。
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翻译不出我想要的感觉,但是这种淡淡的文风,没有凄惨的忧伤,而是平淡的描述透露出的深入骨髓的怀念实在是最容易让我感动的类型……眼泪不受控制的就流下来了
【捂脸
我居然文艺了
这让我情何以堪