There are 700 words of verse and parallelism in my mother's composition.

It rained, and the dust that used to fly all over the sky was gradually submerged by rain; As night falls, it seems that the colors of the world are gradually eroded by raindrops. Like a dream, it beats the heart of the world and makes people sad. When it is quiet, listening to the sound of raindrops, the whole world seems to be filled with tears and rain sadness, which makes people fall into memories. ...

Accompanied by the sound of rain, I meditated at the window and watched the rain beating on the glass, immersed in my heart. Suddenly, my childhood ignorance, naivety and stillness came to my mind, and I felt inexplicably sad. I remembered my beloved teacher in primary school, so I suddenly got emotional and wanted to visit her.

I held up my umbrella, and raindrops hit the ribs, slid down the ribs, and flowed down the water column, wetting my lenses and blurring my clear world. I walked down the street like this, and my heart was extremely complicated. ...

Finally arrived, I saw Teacher Lan's community, recalling that three years ago, I once stood here with my classmates, holding bunches of flowers. It's been three years now, and I've walked into a community I haven't seen for three years, tangled with familiar strangers. I walked to the front of the building, hesitated for a long time, and finally didn't have the courage to return. I don't know how to express my inner emptiness, not because I don't have &; As a primary school student, she was helpless to herself three years ago. Finally, this street, all this, gradually faded from my memory. ...

I thought, "I'd better not go." So I walked home with a melancholy heart and suddenly fell into memories. Is it really like the saying in Beijing Love Story that "when a person falls into memories, it means that she is old"? I thought about it for a long time, but there was no answer. But I keep telling myself in my heart: I am still young. ...

Clean road, bleak night; I like black, but I don't like the night, because its excessive depth always gives people a sense of fear, as if the neon lights on the building are just a dark place in the world, but I can't escape, because that is the only way. I have never had an answer: can I only find my own depth in this dark night except escape?

It is raining harder. I stood on this "strange and familiar" street corner, looking at the way home. At this moment, I don't know why, and my heart is tangled again. I said softly, "Say goodbye to the past, the past ..."