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Sometimes, I sleep in the wind and look at the skirts against the moonlight. The hazy poem points to the depths of the night, and bloom remains the same. Every blooming bud is full of memories, and the loneliness of growth highlights the brilliance of philosophical thinking. Holding a seemingly vicissitudes but young heart, there is always a friendship in the distance. Perhaps it is an unlit lamp, waiting for fate in the south of the Yangtze River, bypassing the rain and lotus flowers in midsummer, calling for the realization of dreams and building an emotional wall with heart.
Therefore, a clear pulse, transparent texture and locked brow are the vicissitudes that young people must go through. I think this is a diary, the reason for lying flat, and there is no answer. And I choose to be deeply grateful, hoping to witness the familiar light years again in the vast journey.
Pick up a pen and write down every ray of happiness. I think it's true. Beginning of autumn this year, earlier than in previous years. And my consciousness tells me that it's just a deep nostalgia in time. When I turned to cherish it, that innocent and familiar smiling face waved and reflected colorful colors. I love it, so I tell every move with sincere words, and I like to keep it in my heart as always.
T.A. I received his letter on August 13 this year. At that moment, I really told myself in my heart that I finally heard from him, and the expectation and friendship in my eyes let me know that my position in my heart was right.
His green face had faded when I saw him. Neat hair, straight waist, fashionable dress and a pair of deep eyes reveal a mature and steady temperament. Standing in front of me, he is still the same as before. When he saw me, he first put his hand on my shoulder, and then made some jokes that hurt me. Familiar actions and words once again reproduce the warmth of the years. In an instant, a long-lost smile appeared on his mouth and mine.
People are always used to saying that memories are the most beautiful bookmarks. Holding the umbrella of memory, I met him in the next semester of senior one. I remember that at that time, exams, placement and choosing arts and sciences became the moments in my high school career. On the day when the results were announced, I was assigned to Class 2, Liberal Arts. In my opinion, new classes and new learning competitions are all things that I need to experience in my heart.
Everything is fate. The first time I saw him, he was tall and thin, which was my clear impression of him. When the head teacher arranged for him to sit with me, I knew that such a person would be my deskmate, but I didn't know anything else. About a week later, I went to the canteen for lunch. When I returned to the classroom, there was a neat stack of textbooks on the desk. I'm still wondering, my hand has been patted on my shoulder. When I turned around, his head played a mystery with me. "Hey, hello, buddy!" I saw his thin oval face showing white teeth to me. I said in a bit of a panic: "Hey, hey!" For the first time, familiarity and strangeness overlap each other, and perhaps smirking is a tacit language. Simple as it is, it's simple.
Then, I briefly introduced myself to him. He lived in Guangdong since childhood, and his family called him Chen Xiong. When I crossed this title in my mind, I actually spit out two words "Call my brother (Chen Xiong)", which always makes people laugh out loud. He smiled and said, "Then I will call you Brother Dao from now on." He was born on August 12 of the lunar calendar, one month older than me, and I said coldly, "Boy, you are really good at talking."
If friendship can reduce, dilute and dispel the burden of study, then this burning emotion will blossom everywhere. If we seek peace and make a wish for growth, then the symbol of icing on the cake is a normal heart among friends, which will fly in our hearts with joy and persistence and smooth every inch of wrinkles.
I don't think personalities can complement each other. I always agree with close friends and people with similar personalities. And he is and will always be my close friend.
He is a man who loves reading. There are always several famous books such as Ordinary World and The Da Vinci Code on the desk. Yellow paper, swollen thickness, I guess he has read it many times and carefully read it many times. This should be his love. I like this kind of books very much, but because of the financial situation at home, every time I pass by the bookstore, I only belong to a "tourist" and can only browse and read.
Once in my memory, when I went to the bookstore alone on Saturday afternoon, I sat quietly in a corner and let time pass. When he passed by the window, he should have seen my concentration and didn't choose to disturb my thoughts. And when he handed me a bottle of mineral water, I knew it was him He smiled and said to me, "What are you looking at, so focused?" I realized that he had called me several times. "Nothing, just a collection of poems of the Republic of China." He looked at the cover. That is a brand-new book, the name is Xu Zhimo's Poems.
I believe he loves poetry, too. I have never seen him read modern poetry. When he said that he also loved reading poetry, I couldn't help asking him, "Have you ever written modern poetry yourself?" He was silent for a while and didn't speak. Passing by casually, he just habitually patted me on the shoulder and said, "Let's go back to school first, it's almost time for evening self-study." I know that for a person who loves literature, books are his second intimate friend and eternal friendship.
So do books and people. It was accidental that I got to know him better. This is the beginning and end of a poem. Wake up from the sunset/all the sunset clouds are forbearing beautiful/blooming flowers, and each one comes from desire/like the night, and the collective contrast/the fact that the moonlight is warm. I read it carefully and repeatedly, and I was very moved. I understand that his poems are profound and philosophical.
He doesn't know that I have read his poems. When I was cleaning the classroom, I saw a piece of paper under his desk corner. The handwriting is mottled and has been altered many times. Obviously, he abandoned these sentences with different lengths. At that moment, I began to understand that he has a writing attitude of Excellence. His respect and belief should be attributed to priceless significance.
When I choose to ask him about this poem in detail, I will ask him for some advice through what I have just written. I like to write a sentence or a few words. This is not a genre, nor a format. Looking back now, to a great extent, I should thank him for his help. He can point out my shortcomings in writing skills and text revision. He told me that writing is not a simple story, and it is just like life if you don't accept unreasonable processes. Although we are still struggling for the college entrance examination, regardless of success or failure, the spring behind us is fair and can only be defined by ourselves. It is a kind of beauty to have flowers and grass. Therefore, writing an article is a mellow but not greasy voice, a calm without burden, and an unobtrusive height.
I looked up at his eyes, so deep words came out of his mouth, and I began to admire him from the bottom of my heart. There is no difference between age and experience. I believe these words have given me a profound and mellow understanding.
After many times, I didn't ask him the reason for his poetry. Maybe it would be more Zen to hide separately. For him, words are affectionate, which is not included in that heart and that cavity blood. And every time I borrow his masterpiece, I always feel glad to have such a bosom friend. When reading a good book, if you know each other, you will never go against it. His knowledge of literature is extensive, and he has dabbled in all kinds of characters. You can always get detailed information about a writer or a work from him every time.
Pure friendship, tacit understanding and love for words make every word shine with tears. Both he and I will cry because of this sentence. Whether Gorky's Childhood or Yu Hua's Living, the sympathy for the tragic fate of the characters is unbearable. I still remember a very profound thing at that time. In the self-study class, he and I were reading the same book, and the teacher saw it. At that time, we burst into tears. It was really embarrassing. The teacher thought we were both sick and caught a cold, and shed tears. Now that I think about it, I still giggle for my emotional side at that time.
A deep friendship can never stand the separation of time. We don't just call it buddies. Besides friendship, I think he is more like a teacher who can understand my lack of writing with his heart. So, until one day he sent me some books, including one of my favorite poems by Xu Zhimo, and articles treasured in his notebook. He doesn't talk much, but his eyes show reluctance. He just told me repeatedly to take care of it.
It's too late to say thank you and hug. I didn't know that this day would be my parting day with him, and I didn't know that I would see him again after three years. I only remember that day was really short, very short. On the day of parting, I still remember that I gave him one of my notebooks in a hurry, which contained my words written after school. Giving books to each other is a promise between us, and the ink is overflowing. Even if we use up all the paper, we can't exchange that memory.
Now, when I receive his letter, I can still see the familiar appearance from his smiling cheek. He called me "Daodi", with a somewhat teasing charm. I'll reply "call brother" right away. I know that "calling my brother" is not just a word, but also an inseparable friendship between me and him. In fact, facing him again, I have a lot of inexplicable confusion. At the moment, a lot of things I want to say are stuck in my throat and I can't say a word. I know, I haven't seen him for almost three years. Where has he been since the second grade?
A series of questions are always endless. When I chose to meet him face to face in the town park, I prepared a book for him early, which should be said to be the book I always wanted to give him. Before I came to the door, I took out the books he gave me in those years, still so familiar, and put them quietly in the box, without dust and flaws.
The air in the park in the morning is intoxicating. The soil is renovated and the vegetation is lush. A pool of lotus flowers, balconies and waterside pavilions reflect a beautiful painting. Facing the early autumn breeze, the nose and mouth are moist and the steps are slow. Seeing him, he sat on the stone chair in the pavilion and looked at the ripples on the lake. He picked up a book and read it silently, a book and a heart. His habits are as comfortable and natural as before.
He arrived earlier than me, so I didn't intentionally disturb his interest. He came to his senses and smiled when he saw me. I sat next to him, and he began to introduce me to the book he was reading, called The Little Prince. I actually read this book when I was a freshman. It was introduced to me by a college counselor at first. There are many wonderful and philosophical sentences in it. "Taming is good for me-because of the color of the wheat field. Look back at those roses! Then you will know that your rose is still a unique flower. " When he read this sentence deeply in my ear, he chose to tell me his changes over the years at the beginning.
Single parent, dropout, employment. Around this, he said meaningfully that he died in the second year of high school because his mother was ill in bed for many years. After that, he resolutely dropped out of school and lived with his father. He didn't choose to go back to his childhood home at once. All this was full of maternal love, so he left because of pain. After tossing and turning, he drifted to the north alone to learn from the scriptures. With the help of his father, he and his father successfully opened a shop, mainly engaged in computer business. Judging from the smile on his lips, his mentality has already matured. I know that those scars in youth contain a lot of hardships and are intertwined with indelible marks in his heart.
Just then, I patted him on the shoulder. I want to tell you that I had the same experience as him. But I didn't say that I knew it was cruel to him, and it would only remind him of the past again. Changing the subject, I asked the secret I had always wanted to ask him. I said, "Actually, I have a poem written by you." He was confused, so I opened those books from the box. He began to laugh and picked up the paper sandwiched at the bottom of the box. The weight of years has smoothed the wrinkles, and the handwriting is still clearly visible. "Wake up from the sunset/All sunset clouds are the beauty of forbearance". At first, he looked at me with dull eyes. I explained to him that I found this when I was cleaning the classroom. He didn't expect me to treasure it. At that moment, he began to carefully touch the size of the paper, which was very thin and light.
He talked about his reasons. He likes watching the sunset, which is full of beauty and longing, hiding many beautiful wishes. He also talked about his childhood. He likes reading books since he was a child. Every birthday, his mother supports his hobby and buys him books as birthday gifts. So, he loves his mother very much, and he wrote those poems for her. When I heard this, I began to understand that when he was in the bookstore in Grade Two, he didn't want to pick up a poem. It didn't mean that he didn't love a poem deeply, but that his mother's love was great and selfless, which made his heart become a poem that would never break until it was perfect. I began to understand him. I know that the sunset represents a landscape that is about to disappear, but the stars in the night are also the purest confessions, where there is the language and desire of poetry.
Those dusty books were caressed by him again. The reunion of love is the agarwood of the years, refreshing. The book he once held in the palm of his hand contains the hardships and feelings of growing up. His memories are wonderful, and so are mine. I have read these books many times since the year I left, and the unique comfort and freedom have given me a lot of encouragement. Now, with the temperature flowing from his fingertips and the touch of his heart, he looked at it for a long time and was fascinated, as if there was another shadow of him inside.
Moved, sighed. Starting from the unknown, he and I not only have similar experiences, but also have similar hobbies. I like to write down my heart in words, I like to feel sad in secret, and I like to sit alone in the sunset. Now, sitting next to him, I am a listener. Now he still keeps the habit of reading. He told me that he kept reading several pages every day to enrich his mind. Asked me about my recent situation, I said I was still studying, almost a junior, almost twenty. He is a month ahead of me. He encouraged me to study hard and know what I really need. Hearing this, I said to him, "Yes, definitely!" That time, we also high-fived, and this year's birthday must be spent together.
When he leaves, it will also be July and a half, and he will also choose to go back to Guangdong to worship his mother. He said that this time when he came back, apart from meeting his former friends, he probably wouldn't have a chance in the future. In a flash, the time of parting has become hasty again. As before, we exchanged books as souvenirs. When he gave me his little prince, I also gave him the old man and the sea. Besides, he took out the notes I gave him. I was pleasantly surprised to read: "A painting/another train in a different place/a piece of green iron sheet extending from north to south, long and narrow/countless flowers and plants standing on both sides are suitable for exchanging life with soil/silent in the ear/making up the anonymity of plants, rewriting time". The poem I wrote three years ago, I remember he helped me revise it several times. Looking at the altered place, his handwriting is strong and powerful, and I still miss it. This is the creative inspiration that I discussed with him. I know that one day we will leave, so heart-to-heart communication is the presentation in memory.
Light years away, friendship blooms. Simple plots can always add a little charm to the earth silently. We propose to take some photos with these books that witness the moment of friendship. In the photo, I put my arm around his shoulder and put the book on my chest. Everyone is healthy and happy. He played with a few gestures, and I made a face, just like a child who will never grow up.
When we finally say goodbye, we will continue to keep the books we gave each other and look forward to seeing each other again in the future. We will meet the books as we do now. He has been waving to me outside the window when he was put on the southbound train. Bon voyage, my silent blessing, only true and warm with the sound of the train. It was a simple farewell as before, only this time I told him what I didn't say at that time. If you have memories, you can always look back. In my life, I am grateful for that time, which made the tacit understanding between my deskmates deeper.
Beginning of autumn this year is full of the true meaning of friendship. I am glad that the heart that has quietly settled down is the river deep in my memory, and a hot tide surges from my heart, filling my every cell. I deeply feel that the lights in my deep feelings are bright, with different colors and different feelings. Long and refined, lingering in my mind and mind for a long time.
Leave, let go. It's short, and it starts from the beginning. When I slept in the bed, it began to rain outside the window. Looking at the photos in my mobile phone, I named it "Brother". The precious memory of youth lies in the fragrance along the way. I remember my concentration when I was studying with him. I couldn't help crying for a story together. Slow heart, slow walk, a lot of messy gathering and dispersion, let me write down the shadow of words. Sometimes, they fall asleep by the grass. Sometimes, they are like hair on the forehead, hanging down and getting old. But the exhortation in the wind, without commitment, has always been in a hurry with the dawn, and it is inseparable from every moment of falling dust.
The mountains are separated by mountains, and the green patches awakened by the breeze fall, not belonging to every drop of water. Growth may require peace and the desire to shout. But the meaning of selflessness has warm feelings. Therefore, the reality will take away the cheeks of missing, and the romance constructed by time makes the soul choose to pray for peace in August, stagnate, and continue to mix one loam into another loam to remember. I think it was a dazzling and honest time. Whether it is friendship or heart, every night, all the stars will be missed by it.