On the bus, my mother and I found two window seats. I skillfully put my hand into my pocket, took out my mobile phone, naturally plugged in headphones and listened to music. I close my eyes and let spring flow on my face. Suddenly I felt my right shoulder sink, and I suddenly opened my eyes. It turned out that my mother was asleep.
I can't help but feel surprised and gratified. It is also appropriate to think of being held in my mother's arms and snuggling on her shoulders when I was a child. In the spring of April, everything became shiny, as if it were plated with Phnom Penh, and my mother's face sparkled. I pulled off my headphones, lowered my head and looked at my mother's face carefully. Mother's sunken eyes were stained with gloom, and her eyes were covered with countless fine lines like branches. The locked eyebrows bind me endlessly. Thanks for your hard work. Why have I never noticed this? Thought of here, my heart can't help trembling, as if there are many ants gnawing at it.
My mother once found photos of her youth, and some ostentatiously said to me, "Do you think my mother was beautiful when she was young?" The mother in the photo looks like a girl, with long flowing hair and catkins fluttering in the wind. Bright eyes reflect a windy spring and glow with a girl's brilliance. At that time, I just replied impatiently, and my mother just turned away silently, sighed slightly sadly: It's good to be young, and then quietly left.
At that time, tears streamed down my cheeks.
Mother has been locked in the sadness of life and family. She has let her youth burn slowly in loneliness, and let the dirty world defile her clear eyes. She is no longer young. She has devoted too much energy and love to me, but these have hollowed her out, but I have never responded to her dedication and love.
My eyes slowly fell on my mother, and I held out my hand to encircle my mother in my arms. The broken hair on my forehead tickles my neck lazily, but I like it very much. After more than an hour's drive, I hugged my mother tightly. How I want my mother to lean on my shoulder forever, leave the burden of life behind me, let her sink on my shoulder and wander in the quiet spring without worry and noise. ...
After getting off the bus, my mother and I walked arm in arm in the street. She suddenly let go of her hand, happily picked up a leaf, and then ran back to show off with me, as if the girl with spring and vigor was back. She came back with a refreshing spring breeze, stepping on clear notes and carrying the whole April day. Mom, in my heart, you will always be the breezy Xu Lai, a prosperous and quiet April day.