I failed the test and fell into anxiety. That summer vacation, the classmate books spread out on the table did not have the laughter of the past, but had so many bitterness and tears after graduation. Pick up the pen, but there are no pieces of inspiration, and the nib can't swing and dance in the spotlight.
I caught a glimpse of the window. But attracted by a red fire, a rose bloomed outside the window. "Very interesting." Go to it with some interest. Mo. A poem flashed in Bing Xin's heart: The flower in the corner, when you admire yourself, the world becomes smaller.
However, it is a wild rose with thorns and arrogance, with some narcissism. "Well, I can't be so arrogant anymore." Gently turn over the book and put pen to paper, but I can't finish it in my heart. Tears hovering in the eyes and eyes, like broken glass slag without a trace of cold light, quietly slipped down, breaking the sadness and helplessness of the ground.
In the evening, the drizzle was dense, and then it turned into a storm and swept outside. Looking out the window, I inadvertently remembered and was worried.
After the rain, the weather is fine; The clouds are clear and the bright moon is in the sky.
When I looked at it again, I was devastated and felt sorry for it. However, I can see green vines and flowers without blooming bones. Isn't this his inner sustenance? "Falling red is not heartless, but turning into spring mud is more protective of flowers." Is a portrayal of it.
My eyes are closed and my heart is clear. Time flies, shallow singing, flowers in skirts, and quiet years. Then, occasionally open the title page of the years, and the unforgettable night is still that stormy night.
The beauty of that time flies, lightly written: in the storm, my heart remains unchanged.