房间

一台深棕色破旧走音的钢琴摆放在墙角，面对着格格不入的白色沙发。两台黑色的音响站在窗边，播放着熟悉的旋律。地上杂乱不堪，堆满了许多黑色的电线和插座还有形状怪异毫不相干的椅子，似乎没有什么可以站脚的地方。正是太阳刚升起的时候，窗口的声音光线，偷偷照进来，新鲜的空气夹杂着里淡淡的木质味和刚刚烹饪过后的余香。鸟儿层次不齐的拍打着翅膀，占领属于自己的领地，一声又一声的独特叫声充满了朝气。尽管有日出的辅助，屋内的光线还是暗淡，只靠着一串红色的挂壁小灯和灰蓝色的天空支撑着仅有的一点光。晨间时刻，是最安静的空间。安静的只能听到自己的脚步声，和老旧的木头摩擦膨胀的声音，以及脚底皮肤和灰尘触碰的磨砂颗粒。

 A dark brown, worn-out, out-of-tune piano was placed in the corner, facing the white sofa that didn't fit in. Two black speakers stood by the window, playing familiar melodies. The floor was a mess, filled with many black wires and sockets, as well as strangely shaped and irrelevant chairs. It seemed that there was no place to stand. Just when the sun had just risen, the sound and light from the window shone in secretly, and the fresh air was mixed with a faint wood smell and the lingering fragrance of freshly cooked food. The birds flapped their wings unevenly, occupying their own territory, and their unique calls were full of vitality. Despite the help of the sunrise, the light in the house was still dim, supported by only a string of red wall-mounted small lights and the gray-blue sky. The morning moment is the quietest space. It was so quiet that I could only hear the sound of my own footsteps, the sound of the old wood rubbing and swelling, and the frosted particles of the skin on the soles of my feet touching the dust.