The sky is blue without rain but I am still waiting for you essay
The sky is blue without rain but I am still waiting for you essay. When it comes to prose, I believe that different people have different preferences for prose types. Differently, some people like to read some beautiful prose very much, because beautiful prose can make people relax. Let’s share the essay “The sky is blue without rain and I’m still waiting for you!” The sky is blue without rain but I am still waiting for you Prose 1
In the world of mortals on the road, who is waiting for whom with a piece of paper, in the hazy mist and rain, who is praying in front of the window. A wisp of dark fragrance is far away, and I can't express how much I miss you. A chaotic song of sheng and xiao can't express the deep love of this life. Counting the process in detail, there is a kind of emotion, let out a long sigh, the sky is blue waiting for the rain, and I am waiting for you, the wind breaks the eaves and the rain is in front, I am still waiting for you.
In this world of mortals, who would know what kind of encounter is like by fate, and what kind of heartbeat is falling in love with. In the vast sea of ??people, perhaps, just a slight turn and a look back could be a fateful encounter and the beginning of a relationship.
Or, a bump in the shoulder will cause them to turn their backs and miss each other without any nostalgia. Miss the spring when the orioles are flying and the catkins are dyed, miss the summer when the flowers are filled with fragrance, and sink into the desolate and scattered autumn, until the plum blossoms and snow are flying, and the youth is gone.
Time will not stay in that sea of ??blooming flowers forever, nor will it be fixed at a certain time because of encounter. Until some sudden regrets opened the door of memories, trying to travel through the past and continue the excitement of the journey.
So, in the long river of memories, my face was cut by the years, my eyebrows were dyed by the dust marks, and the softness in my heart was pulled and torn again and again, accompanied only by the pain of years of dust, However, it will never be the same again.
Looking back at that wasted time, looking back at that time, those smoke dissipated past, those lines left by the years, those corners of joy, those intersections that lingered through , the dust has settled.
You once said that I can only be around you for a lifetime of confusion, I can only stay with you for a long life, and I can only make an agreement with you all the way.
But now, I am the only one looking up to the sky and sighing. After turning around in loneliness, that persistence has become indifferent, but that persistence can never be banished. A kind of longing, a concern, a throbbing deep in the soul, but it cannot explain the chaos of this mortal world.
A promise can wait for another lifetime. A joke can only make people's hearts flutter for a moment, but it can confuse them for the rest of their lives. Holding your son's hand and growing old together is the support of many people's pursuit and dream. Perhaps it is also a phantom on the road, but it is not the end of the story.
The old road with traces of dust is still the goal of my search. I look for it along the time, but what I see is the dust and desolation of the land.
Facing the falling petals, the tender thoughts, some sorrows and joys, and joys, wander in the deep sea of ??memory, gradually drifting away. If we meet for the first time in life, there is no need to say more, why bother with these troubles, and why care about what happens next.
Perhaps I can’t let go of the obsession hidden in my soul. In the end, it’s because of the failure of the fireworks and rain, and I’m entangled with the melancholy that’s hard to let go. It’s ultimately because of the longing that’s entangled in my heart. , and cannot get rid of the shackles of memories.
But I am still there quietly remembering and missing you, the sky is blue without rain, and I am still waiting for you! ! ! The sky is blue without rain and I'm still waiting for you Prose 2
The drizzle knocks on the window, bringing a bit of coolness. After a few days of heat, it flies into the green trees, printing a glossy and warm poem in late spring. .
Spring gradually takes off its colorful clothes and is now dressed in green, riding on the waves and blending into the symphony of the seasons.
The colorful colors fade away and are engraved into the memories of the years. Light a green lantern and the light becomes brighter and brighter. The rain seeped into the soil and the grass grew lush, causing a group of people to become red and lose their way home.
The bouquet in the bottle has also entered its twilight years, reluctantly buried in the soil under the tree, and a good time is brewing in the little green apricots.
Spring is passing by, and every inch is a small poem, written on the template of the season, with red flowers as a foil, green water surrounding it, swallows passing by, and people who appreciate spring chanting...
Throughout the ages, poems singing about spring exude a touch of spring sadness, like the long and fluttering willow silk, which is constantly cut and disordered, causing wrinkles in the green water and slight ripples.
Since ancient times, beautiful things in the world, like rainbows, can only be hidden deep in the sky. Once they see the light, they are fleeting.
Leave a trace of your thoughts and seal them in the fragrance. When your heart is broken, drink it slowly and carefully, like tasting fine wine, filled with gentle and shallow emotions.
In the vicissitudes of life, it is better to touch more or less flowers. Otherwise, who will accompany you to wait for the full moon in the ups and downs?
Half give up, half gain, the flowers have faded to red, and the green fruits are hidden in the green leaves, multiplying life, adding something real to the boring waiting hope.
After going through many hardships, I am afraid of making a big pie. Holding the hand of reality to pursue it, avoiding the pitfalls of the mirror, the moon in the mirror, the harvest is complete, and I always feel that I have some regrets.
In Xinxiang on the 11th, the strong winds were tearing at the green trees, and the overwhelming hail was hitting the ground. Why do you feel that it is the season and you have epilepsy?
Epidemics, wars, the impermanence of seasons... are like hurricanes, overturning the tranquility of the world at any time.
The helpless back is swaying in the powerless wind, and the helpless thoughts are floating. The helpless footsteps are walking in what seems to be the most beautiful season, and the weight is so heavy that people can't breathe.
The drizzle is still falling gently and skillfully, and patches of smoky blue are smeared in the waterfall-like rose bushes. Scattered flowers ignite hope and come in dense clusters... …
I am waiting with confidence. The sky is blue without rain but I am still waiting for you Essay 3
You are the moss growing on my heart. Every rainy season is overflowing with green thoughts.
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Whenever everyone is alone, the past will come flooding back, and the thoughts will always stay in those years when they were as green as vines and as pure as water.
At that time, it was true that "young people don't know what it's like to be sad". I felt that all the days were filled with the singing of birds and the fragrance of flowers, and there was happiness like bees and butterflies every day, just the occasional little melancholy and sadness. , are full of poetry and painting, and a little bit of indescribable sweetness.
During the summer vacation during the work-study program in the first year of high school, my friends and I went to move bricks on the construction site. Although we were a little tired and a little bitter, we were always so happy. The piles of brown bricks were all They have become our "partners" who get along day and night.
"The creek in front of the door is the water droplets in front of the steps. Qingqing sat in front of the door and cried, unable to pick up the watery autumn mood." I don’t know if it’s a poem or a lyric. It was carved on a brick, with a beautiful font and the word “Maple” at the end of the signature.
Probably it’s a word in the name. The person who can carve such elegant and slim fonts and verses on a brick should be a person who has poetry and distance in his heart. I feel a joy and inexplicable throbbing that I have never experienced before.
I took the brick home and put it on my desk. I read that sentence every day while I was busy, and I felt an inexplicable ripple in my heart. Once I accidentally sprinkled water on the brick, the color of the brick became brighter red, and the font became clearer.
So, for many days in the future, whenever I wanted to look at the brick, I sprinkled some water on the brick and read that beautiful and sad sentence over and over again. Fei's thoughts were dancing with his thoughts, and there was no place for my heart in the pile of textbooks on the desk.
Later, I kept paying attention to everyone on the construction site, and a delicate and handsome figure burst into my field of vision. I felt that he was the boy who carved the poem on the brick.
As expected, this quiet, slightly sad boy seemed a little different among all the migrant workers.
With his gentle manner and melancholy eyes, I gradually learned that he was from Shandong. His family was in trouble. He dropped out of junior high school before finishing junior high school. He followed his relatives to work in Qinghai, and two people came to this construction site. It’s been months.
If my character can be compared to a sunny day, then his character can be described as a misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, a little melancholy, a little sad, and with a hint of misty rain.
Because we are similar in age, we are closer to each other. In the days that followed, we carved our favorite poems and short poems we wrote on the bricks for each other to taste and appreciate.
We read each other’s thoughts, shared each other’s happiness, my sunshine, and his melancholy. We met in that rainy season, tendering the years and enveloping youth.
"In this rainy season, my heart is covered with moss..." Reading his poems, I feel that my carefree self seems to have become sentimental, and my heart is full of wetness. A little thing.
I actually fell in love with the misty and rainy days. When it rained, we would find a quiet place at the construction site and carve our favorite poems on the bricks. And I, a tomboy who was in a hurry , but gradually became more quiet and reserved.
In those days, we did not hold hands, and there were no sweet love letters. What we had was only a hazy feeling and a budding thought.
A vacation passed quickly, and we never saw each other again. There was no contact information between them.
At this moment, many years later, many things I have experienced or people I have met have become lighter or thicker in my memory, and some have become blurry. , some are as clear as before, but during those days, the warm spring feelings always stick to the sky of memory.
Waiting for an affectionate encounter with him in the endless years. Then she told him gently: "Bless me, you are the moss growing on my heart."
If you, far away, happened to see this text I wrote, would you recall the days we spent together in that year and month?