Ask for an expansion of homesickness

(1) Girl 1 A boy of fifteen or sixteen is sitting at a wooden desk. Beans of lights reflected his wet eyes. Outside the window, the cold moonlight is like water … he is sticking a small stamp carefully. On the envelope, it is his mother's name. -What is he writing to his mother? Is it about the hardships of studying away from home, or recalling the intimacy of my mother's knees when I was a child? Is it to pour out the feelings of "thinking of my relatives twice during the festive season", or to respond to the expectations of my mother under the locust tree at the head of the village every day? ..... He's still sticking it respectfully. What he pasted was only stamps, but the affection that mother and son missed each other in two places! Where is the letter he mailed? What he mailed was clearly the pure heart of "but how much love has the inch-long grass, who won three Chunhui"! Who says that "a teenager doesn't know the taste of sorrow"? This is a teenager-homesickness like smoke and dreams! "(2) A boy with a short black beard grew at the corner of his mouth. At this time, he was standing on the side of the ship with his back hand, watching the distance from afar. In my hand, I hold the narrow ticket. What is he staring at? Do you remember the joy of marrying the bride in the red lanterns, or the bitterness of running away from home to make a living? Is it to recall the sweetness of husband and wife's reunion, or to think of his wife waving goodbye in the fog when he boarded the ship alone again and again? ..... Hometown is getting closer, closer. However, at the thought of a short reunion, it was still a long separation ... He couldn't help but hold the narrow boat ticket in his hand again. (3) Teacher, he returned to his hometown once again. He knelt down in front of a new grave, crying and worshiping-this time, he was facing the separation from his biological mother! I can't forget it. When I was a child, I played in my mother's warm arms. I can't forget it. I forgot to go home when I was a child, and my mother called anxiously in the twilight at the head of the village. I can't forget my mother's earnest exhortation and comfort when I left home as an adult ... But, mother! Why did you leave? This kind and kind soil layer actually separates our mother and son alive-(4) A teacher's life is a hundred years. The mainland is my mother. Needless to say, I'm burned to ashes, and my soul, Tang Po, still haunts that homeland. I was only twenty-one when I left her, and I was seventy when I returned home. When you turn around, the wind blows black hair, and when you look back, it is full of snow! The pain of weaning in the Yangtze River lasted forty-three years! This is the sad cry of the wanderer, tearful call: motherland, I want to come back!