Sprinkle on the window, oblique like mother's wrinkles, bright like mother's white hair, so light up the lamp on the table, will
The pen in the hand turned into an ark, and all the past events were salvaged in the long river of memory. The first memory my mother gave me was in that distant afternoon. A loud slap broke it.
I thought it was a perfect lie. I ran out crying and claimed that I would never come back when the sun went down.
When smoke billowed from the kitchen chimney from the west, I screamed at my mother with an almost stubborn stubbornness.
Hiding in the haystack and falling asleep.
When I wake up, I feel a chill penetrating the bone marrow, and the dark fear is accompanied by an old story.
Ghosts and monsters overflow every pore, watching the man-eating demons stretch out their evil black hands through the night.
The cover forced me to be lonely, so crying became my only choice at that time.
The hurried footsteps bid farewell to kindness in despair, and a pair of warm hands held me so tightly in my arms.
Afraid of losing something, I suddenly felt a sense of security that I had never felt before. There are a few drops of warmth in my arms.
The liquid falls on the face and flows into the mouth, but it turns into a torrent and hits the heart directly.
That unforgettable night has condensed into a warmth that will stay in my heart forever, and it will never happen again.
Any disguise, I know that people who felt sorry for me in the past will never feel sad again. After years of ups and downs, my mother has been persistently weaving a story about literature for me.
My dream and my preference for books have become a little comfort to my mother.
On every lonely cold night, the light in my mother's bedroom accompanied the figure in my study until late at night; exist
I will feel infinite power in every cup filled with caring milk powder.
I was at home when the dribs and drabs of heart ink I poured on the manuscript paper first turned into lead marks.
Kissing a wrinkled smile and reading a piece of relief. At that time, I said, this is what I want to carve at the ends of the earth.
The realm of meaning pursuit.
My mother is destined that my life will only bleed and not cry. The joy of success still lingers in my ears, and life
The first blow came unexpectedly on a stormy day. Facing countless days and nights of hardships
In exchange for a rejected stamp, I found that the oath I chewed repeatedly was just a childhood game.
Mother silently spread out the lost pen for me, smoothed the crumpled paper, and redirected me to find the paper.
I used to walk seriously, but I couldn't walk well. At that moment, I found my mother stronger than before.
For me. On a windless and rainless day, all my dreams came to fruition and I embarked on a distant invitation to study abroad.
Journey. After spending half a year in a daze, I went back to the familiar station again and saw my mother in the distance.
Looking forward to the eyes, I can not help but burst of heartache.
Mother's footsteps are as kind as before, but she can't hold her adult son in her arms, just
The phrase "not thin" seems to have unloaded the burden for a long time, and still took my hand on the way home like when I was a child.
Suddenly I have a feeling that I will never grow up.
The short holiday passed by in a hurry, and I boarded the car with a bag full of heavy maternal love. I don't
Dare to look back, knowing that there will be tears in my eyes when I see my mother's camel. So on a rainy night of spring rain, I burned my endless mood in the furnace and dipped it in ink.
, to write some words that want to report the honor of three spring, and I am destined to be the one who loves me and the one I love forever.
Dear lover! Attention; This article was published in the school magazine.
This article will once again take out the old manuscript as a mother's day gift to express a mood.