Introduction: Youth, there is only one true youth in life, the cardamom years, the flowering season and the rainy season. The following is a lyrical prose about recalling youth, welcome to enjoy. Chapter 1: Lyrical Prose of Reminiscing Youth
The beautiful months of youth, the murmuring drizzle, the years are light and sound, the tea years are shallow and frivolous, the light and indifferent memories are like walking on thin ice, and the people in the memory are blurred I don’t know, the people and things of those years can never go back. Time flies, years are in the blink of an eye, and eternity is in an instant.
What is youth? It is uninhibited laughter and crying. What is youth? It is when you become mature between falling and standing up countless times. What is youth? It is a love of success and failure. What is youth? I cannot fully explain the differences of youth. I cannot explain what everyone thinks of youth. I may not be able to make the decision about my youth, and the passage of time is too painful to look back on.
My youth is a void, my youth is the hazy memory. My youth is the passage of time in a daze. Unlike others who work hard with goals and directions, I don’t even have the most basic goal, so how can I dream? No one else has had such a conversation, or met several people who were suitable or inappropriate. However, there was a sound and shadow in my mind, a period of silence that had no beginning and no end. The passing years are just a fleeting moment. What should come will always come, and what should go will always go. These are not things we can control.
At that time, we were still ignorant, and our youthful faces were intertwined with our youthful frivolity, painting the most carefree scenery of the years and the most beautiful annual rings. We have cried together, laughed together, and played together. Who will remember and who will forget all of this?
There is no such thing as madness, which is not called youth, and there is no such thing as sadness. Youth is not painful, it never ends, just because we joked about sadness in those years. Let time roll through the ends of your hair, silhouetted against the sun. Youth comes so beautifully, so green. Outside the window, white clouds are floating, whether it can reach the ends of the world. It is no longer far-fetched to smile back.
We will be old if we don’t go crazy. We all have the heart of a bad boy just because we are too good. It plays the wantonness of youth, and is bright and sad, just because it makes sadness laugh. In the end, I no longer wrote a blank page, but engraved the traces of youth and turned it into a poem. I remember those years, those frivolous years, replaced by fleeting years of smiles.
The Buddha said: It takes five hundred years to look back at the past life once. There is no right or wrong person among the people you meet. In the most beautiful years, happiness and sadness, big and small, seem to make you laugh and cry. Talk and laugh about sadness, laugh about what is not love but like, smile about what is not touching but just sand in your eyes, smile about what is not love but just like, smile about what is not touching but just the sand in your eyes, smile and save those tears until the end, maybe you are still strong.
Recalling the passing years, who would wait for whom? We have all waited for that person, but in the end, time did not wait for us, and we lost each other like this. It's a pity that I can never go back to where I was before. Chapter 2: Lyrical prose recalling youth
Only after experiencing it do you realize that youth is just a memory. There is no literary atmosphere, no ups and downs.
The sky is gray, with a few drops of light rain occasionally falling. It was already night when we came out, and the streets were full of lights. It rained, there were fewer people, and the hawkers on both sides seemed overwhelmed. Suddenly, there were several fourteen-year-old or fifteen-year-old boys in front of me, talking, laughing, and playing around, which suddenly took me to the distant youth era.
Speaking of youth, I don’t know when my youth began, nor do I know if my youth has ended. I remember that I had the impression of youth when I first entered junior high school. That was the purest and most beautiful time. After bidding farewell to primary school, it is no longer about Chinese and mathematics, and I can learn other things. Later, I also started reading extracurricular books and discovered the outside world.
At that time, I had no choice but to search for some magazines on street stalls to read. Those books were from readers and youth digests, and most of them were from a few years ago or earlier. They were probably printed too much and were hoarded but not sold. These books were brought over by a bookseller on a tricycle. A piece of oil paper was spread on the ground, and all the books were placed on it, which were damaged on the outside but new on the outside. The thick one is one yuan, the thin one is five cents. At that time, my meal was only two yuan, and it was really not easy to spend some money on books. Most of them are bought by students from better-off families, while other students borrow them for viewing. But I am not like that. My family background is very poor, which can be described as extremely poor, but I like to own, so I always save money to buy books to read. After reading them, they are very valuable and I rarely lend them to other classmates. However, even so, those books disappeared due to being borrowed from left to right.
It is precisely because of these books that I gradually gained values ??and a worldview. It was an innocent era, and most of the youth magazines were written by seniors in high school or just entering college. At that time, I thought high school was a pool of holy water, meant for appreciation and worship. Now when I think about this pool of holy water that I imagined at that time, it is also extremely beautiful. In the book, there are only three seasons in high school: spring, autumn and winter. It is the blooming mountain flowers, the autumn leaves falling, and the snowflakes warming the winter. Maybe it’s because summer is too hot, maybe it’s summer vacation and most people are idle at home with nothing to do, or maybe summer is graduation season and we’re always immersed in it. In short, there are few traces of summer. The author always has some puppy love that he doesn't want to express, but it is always faintly revealed in the article, maybe because he is not mature enough, or maybe he is afraid of the doubts and contempt of outsiders.
In short, the love and emotion in it are song-like and dreamlike, like a Grimm's fairy tale for young people.
After that, I entered high school, with joy and dreams about going to swim in that pool of holy water. However, everything is not as imagined, the characters are very different, and I am not the protagonist. In addition to being ordinary in high school, I also had my moments of madness and falling in love. Fortunately, I also had some of the things I should have. To this day, my partner is still in high school, and he is still that beautiful. This is what I am most proud of and gratified about. I didn't meet "Holy Water" in high school, but I had the most beautiful love. Youth, I have it, I am happy.
Goed to college and came to a big city. At this time, I also had a better understanding of society, and I also understood that the greater the hope, the greater the disappointment. Big cities are not as prosperous as they appear on TV, and big companies are not as formal as they appear on television. Is it because TV has deceived us or because we are too involved in the drama? There is no point in pursuing it now. All in all, my college life was short-lived and mediocre. There is nothing outstanding and no flaws. The only regret is that I failed in advanced mathematics, which is my favorite mathematics. This may be proof that a university that does not fail is not a perfect university.
Now, I am working. When I first came out, I had a lot of burdens, too many worries, and all kinds of trivial matters tied to my dreams, which sometimes made me feel unable to move forward. Fortunately, I have just started and still have time to cope and pursue my dreams. I'm still young, it's great to be young!
What is youth? My answer is that youth is memories. Chapter 3: Lyrical prose recalling youth
Youth, there is only one true youth in life, the cardamom years, the flowering season and the rainy season, we are full of vitality, we are brave in struggle, we are full of vitality, we are beautiful and simple, we are happy, We are sad, we laugh, we cry. The colorful world allows youth to paint brilliant colors and piece together the notes of life. However, facing an aging face, the long river flowing through the years seems to swallow up our best, so we begin to remember and learn to regret and be satisfied. We long for that dream that will last forever, and we cherish this final compromise. When people go to Qingshan, we will always grow old day by day. Perhaps, we start to pursue a young heart.
The romantic season is like flowers, one by one, surrounded and lingering. At both ends of the road, there is our heart-to-heart cherishment, and there is also our heart-to-heart separation. There are the years we have walked hand in hand, and there are also tears of our separation dripping from our hearts. Youth is unique, youth is also beautiful.
In the dim world, there will always be some mottled afterimages, showing a sad look before sunset. I once seriously appreciated the infinite beauty of the sunset, but I also seriously felt the paleness of the sunset. Youth is sad. On the initial blank paper, there will always be a few profound lines drawn, those parallel and intersecting straight lines, those entangled and connected curves.
When the sun goes down, I will still look up at the horizon, where the sea and the sky meet. It is like the intersection of two worlds. When we finish this journey, we will cross the end with peace of mind and rush to The next starting point. We long to stay here and bathe in the beauty of the glow. We have too much reluctance to leave, stemming from some good things and mixed with some regrets.
We write some poems about post-youth, and we interpret some of our own lives, some of our unique destiny. We are used to hiding our youth in cameras and fixing it in our memories. We often open those yellowed photos and those unsent letters, and then look at the faintly innocent smiling faces. We have many thoughts and we feel emotional. , like the surge of the heart, there are layers of ripples on the sparkling water. The breeze rises, and the gently rippling boat sails towards the past with the past and present. Time always goes away forever, but the heart is always there.
Youth is a lingering song, a lingering song dedicated to sadness. We constantly strive for time, but we are always chased by time in the pursuit of time. We yearn for this period of lingering, but it is very likely to be fleeting in our squandering. One day, when youth slips away quietly, we will find that those who have passed by are exactly what we have lost.
Youth is a love, a love full of passion. We linger on it, but we have to think about it in our memories, just like the flowers withered and the leaves withered, hurried but long. Once upon a time, we were waiting for those romantic and beautiful pictures. Once upon a time, we were looking forward to those words of fantasy and disillusionment. Once upon a time, we were shouting for the passion of youth. Once upon a time, we were sad for those seemingly spent days. Water flow continuously.
? Look at the flowers blooming and withering all over the sky. Who can pity the flowers when they are gone? Youth is fragile, but youth is full of gratitude. The ending without an ending is a nostalgic and upward heart. We feel the simplicity and tranquility of nature, even if our youth is left behind in the vast winter.