Pick up shells and piece together good memories of life.

Hello, everyone, this is a beautiful life on Wednesday night. I'm Dong Jing, the new voice of EOV.

The weather is getting colder and colder, and the passing autumn wind often reminds us of the midsummer. This past summer has added a lot of unforgettable memories to our lives, which we can't touch and let go. We can only make it heal and leave a scar in our hearts, but it will never disappear.

Today, we will once again experience the T.A. midsummer just after July.

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(2)

At the end of July, the rosy clouds on the horizon began to spread deeper into the boundless sky at dusk. The warm reddish sunset shuttles through the transparent glass layer by layer. Memories grow wildly on the hillside full of sunflowers, but are consumed weakly and quickly, leaving behind the thick and old trunk of the buttonwood tree. Burned pale and slender fingers, like faint chestnut dreams trembling in the wind, debris everywhere.

I am like an abandoned wooden cat, sitting quietly in the corner of the classroom, with light gray clouds scattered on the blue sky wall outside the window. The dark green 2B pencil was randomly placed on the white paper of the open notebook. I buried my head very low, holding the pen gently with the ring finger and thumb of my right hand like a broken white fishbone, trying to write a story. The poem asks, Xia Xia, why do you use your ring finger instead of your index finger? I vaguely saw the familiar and unfamiliar outline of Yu, and smiled and didn't answer.

The blackboard is covered with white chalk and filled with formulas, letters and other things. I remained silent, clutching my slender, cold pen and writing in the wind. Those red spire churches have only white pigeons and ivory fences on the tiles, which are printed in the pale sky. In the dim light, I heard the sound of talking as wet as a violin. I looked up and saw Yu sitting opposite me. As soon as I came to wait for a while, I realized that he invited me to dinner.

At the pure white dining table, we sat quietly together as usual and chatted occasionally. He sometimes smiles, but his eyes reveal melancholy. I always think of this messy school canteen as a banana castle, and I can smell the faint fragrance of roses. I saw the witch waving a sharp broom in front of my eyes, and everything was back to its original state.

The bell undulates like a wave and rings in the slightly wet air. He quickly took out a silver-white mobile phone and turned to say hello. I saw his beautiful side face and all kinds of mouths that kept opening because of the speech in the crowd that hurried by.

Later, he left me a smile and disappeared from my transparent sight.

I clenched the wooden red chopsticks hard and replaced them with ring fingers, because the index finger was held for too long, leaving a biting pain.

I stubbornly claim to be my brother. He once told me that he wanted me to be happy.

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(3)

The poem says, Xia Xia, when you are alone at home at night, you must turn on all the lights in the room and take the soft pink Lopunny she gave me.

So I curled up in front of the French window, and the pale moonlight poured down like water. I obviously feel stiff, like rotten wood that can't be moved easily. I stood up slowly and made myself a cup of inferior coffee that might expire. I am always willing to let that extremely bitter taste erode my body like a bug. Such as a bright little blade, gently across the skin, leaving no trace, but there is a heartbreaking pain.

I walked barefoot on the upper reaches of the wooden floor, holding a book like a fish in my hand. The dim light enveloped my slender body, and I had the illusion that my pupils began to sparse. Spread your cold fingers, only to find that you are missing someone at this time. Memories soon leaked from his fingertips, but everything about him began to fill the gap like a daisy.

Open a few meters of "go left, go right" and see the lonely black handwriting in the rich night: you said you would come at 4 o'clock, and I will be happy at 3 o'clock.

So in the early hours of the morning, I wore a big white sleeping skirt and dragged the hairy slippers of a long-haired rabbit, trembling towards the dark stairs, sat down with my hands around my knees, looked at the bright white stars in the sky, cupped my chin, and sketched out everything in the future with colorful ropes. How I wish I could wait like a girl in a fairy tale until a meteor streaks across the sky like a crystal tear. However, when I sat in pain all over, I saw nothing.

I squatted down and cried, clutching my huge, ill-fitting white skirt. Tears flow quickly, but like the lonely pain when flowers bloom, there is no sound. I know, my world has begun to be completely quiet.

In the middle of the night, I got a call from Yu, who said that he had arrived in Prudence, Paris. Where he once took me. I picked up the fragments of my memory and heard him touch my black hair and said, Xia Xia, Prudence in August is the world of lavender. When I am happy, I will definitely take you there.

This poem tells me, Xia, that there are some things that need to be remembered for a lifetime.

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(4)

I remember flying kites with Shi on the hillside. Flowers cover the whole skirt like bright stars on the horizon, and the blue swing gently ripples in the elegant spring breeze. White flowers bloom in our innocent smiles, pigeons with pure colors stand on the edge of fingertips, and two butterfly-shaped kites are carved in the blue jewel-like sky, rising and falling in the ups and downs of the air. "giggle" is like the sound of beautiful wind chimes colliding.

So I carved the word poem in the circuitous depths of the sulcus, and its traces have never been diluted, whether it is a sudden gale or a rainstorm. But, in the end, it was poetry that left with Yu. They are like ghosts in the depths of the sea. If the eyebrows are faintly printed with fish lines, they will be very happy.

And I, I can only put my hands together in the dark and pray for them towards the blue moon. The moonlight is still pale, like my face. The man who used to be in that closed container in my heart is now suffocated by crowded memories.

Poetry said sadly to me on the phone, Xia Xia, I'm sorry.

I suddenly cried. I sobbed and told her, Look, Xia Xia has always been strong. There is nothing wrong with Xia Xia. Xia Xia only hopes that when you come back, you can bring fresh and moist purple lavender to Xia Xia. Xia Xia wishes you a good and happy life. Some words can't be said. Once a slip of the tongue, the fragile bond will often be broken, and even if you regret it, you will never drag your feet.

I hung up the phone trembling, but inadvertently, I saw that July was really over. Leave no trace. A woman who has finally grown into a tree swaying in the summer breeze.

Xia Xia originally expected that summer would end, but when July ended, August was still not over. Reed floats in the air, and the golden sun in July is engraved in the sky.

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(5)

No matter how far away the past is from us, we should remember the people and things that taught us to grow up. In such a season and such a night, we can sort out the past for ourselves and miss the remaining summers in our lives.

18 in the afternoon 10 in the afternoon, it is today. Thank you for accompanying me to relive the faint happiness and sadness in T.A. just after July. I'm Dong Jing. See you next time.