When I stay in the text

  Day, we must have fun. Like an earthworm, he cuts himself into nine sections, joins two tables to play mahjong, and one who serves tea and pours water.
  In 001
  middle school, I occasionally stared in a daze on the balcony. There were many students shouting around me. I was like a breathing fish.
  Suddenly the surroundings fell silent, and I saw someone approaching cautiously and gave me a bunch of flowers. My face seemed to be hot, and then I couldn’t hear what the person in front of me was saying. I saw a sudden gust of wind blowing up the curtains in the classroom, wrapping up the boy who was still talking.
  I tied the bunch of flowers to a tree on the way home, and then the petals turned black, and slowly, the whole bunch fell down against the trunk, and there was a quiet smell in the air.
  After 002
  grows up, I can’t remember the boy’s face, what he said, and his name. He is more like a plot I imagined when I made a fictional novel.
  Only occasionally in classmates, they talked about this one of the few highlights in my middle school and made fun of me, and made me doubt my suspicion.
  It may be that the boy completed all this in my swaying spirit, making me unable to remember as much as possible.
  But I will never forget that scene, the curtains are unfolded like skirts, and there is a cheerful laugh all around.
  writing things in 003 , I often wandered in the middle of middle school. I have seen many plots and scenes, and made up many stories with half true and false. But afterwards, I always write carefully and bypass this part. It is not the part of the material, nature, nor the part of love, it is just the part that I cherish but is missing.
  Later, I gradually began to put many small things in my writing. Different from introspective detectives, flowing records, or deliberately enlarged observations, is to write down the traces and moods of a certain time and place.
  I have no ambitions, I want to drive them to express something in permutation and combination, but I cherish the tenderness of memories.   Before the
night came, we were still walking down the mountain. The setting sun was about to fall completely, and there was only the last glimmer of light on the horizon. At the final boundary where light, cloud and mountain were about to disappear, my friend pointed and asked me: How many colors can you see from it?
  Suddenly forgot the cold, forgot to drive, and began to distinguish between colors.
  I tried my best and counted 6 kinds. The friend nodded and said: Almost.
  It was dusk in the winter night in the Mustang Forest, and a fat magpie by the road almost collapsed the treetops.
  raindrops of 005 hit the earth and were full of vitality. The people who were with you ran down the steps quickly, and then the big drops of rain said: I haven’t been exposed to rain in a long time. People passing by looked sideways, as if this was killing Meiyou.
  Finally, the adult’s dismissive eyes forced us under the eaves to go crazy together.
  We cannot see all the snow that falls on a person’s life. Everyone spends the winter alone in their own lives.
  But the rain at the age of 18, we were together, and finally rushed to the rainbow warmly and colorfully.
  At the
  door of the 006 community, there is a little baby who is held and played by the grandmother. The cute baby is fat and can walk staggeringly, but he is not good at talking. Every day I passed by, he would run over and smile at me, sometimes he would follow him for a few steps.
  When I was passing by that day, I saw him running over again, but this time he didn’t laugh, but pointed at a big black bag on his head, curled his lips, as if to cry. Acting like a baby to strangers is probably the only patent for such a cute baby.
  Later, I met this kid and saw me passing by. He ran back towards his mother, hid behind her mother, and then peeked out. His grandmother said, this is the aunt you used to follow, and he smiled shyly.
  I can’t talk about avoiding the crowd, but I can sit down and speak the words “silent and introverted.” Too envious of that kind of dazzling girl, likes diligently, cheerful attitude, easy to get along with.
  Later, after such a girl stayed too many times in the text, she herself kept that feeling. When I actually interacted with people in the human world, this feeling floated up, sprinkled in the crowd, and some fell on my head.
  Many things, we went together, after the end, I retelled it in words, maybe this retelling sublimated it, because it sublimated it, and finally remembered it. Later, many of these feelings bounced off the paper and fell into my life. The most magnificent thing is love.
  Similarly, at the beginning, I just combed and wrote down these words about love, people, places, times, events, these detailed plots that have happened, and then turned them into shining stars. The more I search for my love and the more I write, these loves line up into a shining galaxy.
  Think about it, it’s because: before putting it on the pen, I feel love; when putting it on, it fosters love; after putting it on, it freezes love.
  Lying in the pile of words in the notepad, the time has passed, and occasionally stroking it out, but still can vividly meet old acquaintances. No matter how many places you go, who you meet again, what are the joys, angers, sorrows, and sorrows, those who have been reviewed stand silently and never leave.
  slowly remembers more, and when merging similar items of emotion, the more connected parts are found, the more similar things are. Later, I went to the unbelievable parts before-they took me from contemplation to conception.
  I admire those who can say love by opening their mouths, and I am just someone who writes love on the tip of a pen. However, it will no longer be entangled which is higher and lower. Because if someone occasionally stays at the text hotel where I stay, these words about love will also warm their hearts.