In the summer of 2005, the sun shone brightly. I stood on the empty and quiet campus playground and looked at the weeds around me. The past time merged into a period of flying bright youth, which slowly flowed through my palm. Although I am reluctant to go, my heart is warm and satisfied.
When I bid farewell to my primary school years, I began to feel an unprecedented nostalgia. Those warm hours of attending classes in ancient and quaint classrooms and those leisure hours of walking in Chinese rose flowers have always been silent, but I still clearly remember those ordinary and warm days in my alma mater. Our youth and enthusiasm bloom on our own "stage". That year, with a meager memory, the Chinese rose bloomed in a brilliant season.
But in a blink of an eye, time passed like this. Those pictures that can never come back, those chaotic and dull pictures, clearly emerge in my mind. I think they are worth remembering.
Standing on the podium in front of the classroom, you can see the sunset slowly disappearing into the twilight, as if you saw the teacher's face, the color pictures you read with your companions in the self-study class, and the path full of summer breath; See the faint sunlight through the cracks in the leaves. ...
Everything makes me feel a little nostalgic and reluctant. In the late summer of 2005, the wind roared and took away the last heat of summer. I stood in the shade, listening to the flow of time. Tiny sunshine falls gently in my eyes. At the age of fifteen, I grew up alone and quietly in the wind, standing on campus looking at the vastest sky and listening to the quietest rain.
A year passed quietly in my palm. I turned my head and stared at the fragments of the past, the profound past with flowers. Then I looked up and walked forward firmly with my small and clear dream.
Time is like water, I smile and miss moving forward.