Wandering around the street corner alone, facing the wind, listening to the rain, inadvertently, my heart sank with sadness. Some fragments come to mind, play like slides and flow from heart to heart.
I still remember that we were carrying schoolbags, holding hands, eating Sugar-Coated Berry and singing children's songs, and crossing the vast sea of people. We were all eight years old, in the same blue sky, in the same campus, in the same grade, in the same class, with childlike dreams. That year, we were ignorant and didn't know each other. Fate arranged us to study, grow up and write youth stories together.
It was a simple and simple year. We wore a red scarf for the first time, sang the national anthem under the national flag, and let the wind blow that fragile face. That year, we recited poetry for the first time and circled it with an unfinished note with a crude tone. That year, we did exercises for the first time, and a pair of immature arms fluttered in the wind, leaving too many firsts. The feeling of the first time is too novel and warm, but it can't resist the cold of parting after all. I haven't seen it before, and I'm worried that the flowers are gone, people are scattered, my dreams are not awake and I'm wandering alone, and there are two boundless waters between Ying Ying; If you don't think about it, it's like autumn rain falling on Haitang.
five years later, we are still in that place, still together, still singing the national anthem, still letting the blood on our chests flutter in the wind, still the same faces, still ... It's a pity that no matter how similar we are, we can't stand the time and the unchanging principle. Sadness and pain emerged under those tender faces, but I don't know when and who shed tears, but I don't know who is splitting and crying inside. At the closing ceremony, people were intertwined, and everyone's expressions were quite wonderful, including crying, laughing and being dull. Everyone had a unique heart, but at the moment they all seemed to be dyed with the same color. Even if there are a thousand words, it is embarrassing to leave. Finally, everyone left, went to a place of their own, never looked back, but came back.
in the early spring when cherry blossoms are flying, English is falling in mid-air. Blue-purple platycodon grandiflorum seems to stop the picture and lose its lush forest. The wind is mixed with cold and quiet stone benches, and the residual temperature cannot be dissipated.
in the evening, the lights went out silently, and the colorless tears fell accurately, smashing innocence without leaving a trace of discretion when I found that the wound was deep.
everything is gone with the time, but it has never been lost.