儿时总觉得，父亲是一座山。不是高耸巍峨、让人满心仰望的峻岭，而是沉默敦厚，横亘在琐碎烟火里的山丘。他日日早出晚归，我入眠时他方才踏夜归来，我清晨睁眼，他早已奔赴生计。我们之间，隔着一整个忙碌白昼，隔着他满身卸不下的疲惫，隔着年幼的我无从读懂的成年人世界。爱，从来藏于无言。

As a child, Father always felt like a mountain to me.Not the kind of towering peak that fills you with awe, but a quiet, steadfast hill rising through the ordinary landscape of our lives. He left before dawn and returned after dark. When I fell asleep, he was only just stepping through the door; when I opened my eyes, he had already gone to earn our living. Between us stretched an entire busy day, his exhaustion I could not lift, and an adult world I was too young to understand.Love had always lived in silence.