Flower blossoms and dance flowers fall, twisting a trace of Daiyu buried flowers of grief, in this cool spring, the composition of a delicate youth.
The pure smile is fixed in the yellowed old photos in the past years, I remember every second of every word that passed helplessly, and even more unable to forget the winter without snow, 67 people's warmth, bloomed on the eve of Christmas in 07.
That was my first Christmas party, teachers with lights and colors, as if back to the early childhood June 1 Children's Day is the teacher. We have known each other for three months, the whole class came one after another, excited cheeks may know how to bring a slight red, tables and chairs arranged into a square posted around the teacher, I do not remember who presided over the program, said the sentence "start".
I wore a white cotton jacket standing in the center of the field, the corner of the whispered whispers, I saw the lights outside the window lit up a few classes, fingertips fluttering in the bamboo flute, out of the careless and embarrassed podium. That song is very long, quiet prelude, cheerful and messy Allegro, mournful lines, close your eyes and listen to ...... so hopefully there is not a song end of the moment, perhaps then there is no end of the song melancholy.
And then there is, well-prepared interactive program, a group of people swarmed up to grab a stool, scratching their heads guessing riddles ...... not like the later reserved, forgetting the beloved "image", happy to hold the gift back to the seat, my triumphant return to the generals! I'm not going to be able to do that. There is also a pair of combinations, ears stuffed with headphones foot beat, humming fast and delicate lyrics, the lights are very dark I can not see their eyes, sung too fast I can not hear the tune, but the day of the leaping cheer is still reverberating in the ears.
Perhaps the most memorable was the classroom teacher Li's dance. That night, who turned off the lights in the screaming, who pulled the big hand of Xiao Li in the dance, who listened to the loudest song in the dim corner, who sat on the table to cover their mouths silently and smiled ...... What kind of writing should I use to recount the story with thick ink and color, with what kind of eyes to look back on the three years that passed by in the blink of an eye, to keep so many spring, summer, autumn and winter ......
Later ah, classmates left five, the following year in September Li went to Fuzhou. I fell in love with the Indonesian group mocca, love them mixed with white, blue, orange music, always so clean and penetrating; fell in love with the lingering Kanon, the ancient harmonies entwined to the last perfect finish, is the refraction of the life of the calm, is the splendor of the small, with a firm belief in the dream to fly.
I used to waste my parents' trust and love for me, I used to disdain some of my classmates to come and go, and I used to say that my biggest dream was to leap down from the 19th floor of the building without fastening a seat belt. The time precipitation, who stole the young. The old laughter bit away from the ear, twilight look back, all blank, a few months later is the midterm, the midterm is separate, is the starting point of high school. How many sorrows and joys are there in a lifetime, and how much of the moon is missing, my fingers are still dancing on the zither strings, and the melancholy of the people who have left the tea cooler is in front of me.
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How the years have gone by, and how they have gone by
They have gone by, and how they have gone by.