The night, the library, inexplicably uneasy, urged me to leave in a hurry. In a hurry, too in a hurry! Time, you always change a second from night to day, from day to night. It was late at night and I didn't know what to do.
On the bridge of wind and rain, leaning on the railing alone, the breeze strikes, the moon in the middle of the lake, thinking about the past. It is another graduation season, once the green mountains are green and yellow, and it has been almost a year since I struggled with you.
I always face a river, miss the past running water, hot summer, far away from the college entrance examination, just entered the university, but still ignorant. We are all dandelions, and when the wind blows together, we don't know where to go. Like anyone else, he joined the Confucian Society and participated in the meeting of new and old students, the first activity of the Confucian Society. Your passionate speech on the stage was deeply imprinted in my heart. I happened to hear other seniors say that you are from Jiangxi and my fellow-townsman, and my cold heart is suddenly as warm as direct sunlight. Ask again, communicate deeply with you again, unexpectedly still in the same city! So we were inseparable, doing morning exercises, eating, reading and reading together. A senior, a freshman, I am like a man who has been living in the desert for a long time, finding a spiritual guide, relying on you like a younger brother, never thinking about time. I firmly believe that everyone who is willing to stay in the Confucian society will have perfect conduct, and you are no exception. Upright, upright, wise, practice, read early in the morning before morning exercise, read Thanksgiving words before eating, do not waste time, even walk and read, bend down to pick up every piece of rubbish on the road to walk with you, I am like a thief with stolen goods, exposed to broad daylight, ashamed, exhilarated, uneasy. You use what you have done to spur me to grow and not to be lazy. In this freshman year, I enjoyed the pleasure of traveling and forgot the destination. I vaguely remember what you said: as long as you want to do it, the world will make way for you.
Summer insects beat, lights blink, looking at the lake, calm. Close your eyes, but can not find the way forward. Looking back, the lonely journey of two semesters in my sophomore year sank in oppression, just like me standing on the bridge this night, facing a lake of dead water. Why do I always sigh in the years? Who caresses the falling flowers? See the Yanghua fall, with whom do you go back? It's already June, and I still can't find the vitality of summer. I always felt that I was going to have a serious illness and then sleep until dawn a few days later. Pick up a dead leaf in winter, the thin yellow veins accompanied by the depressed wood, the wind and rain lake is dead silent. Unable to resist the cold wind, I curled up with nowhere to hide. Always feel too cold outside, do not want to take off the winter jacket. The old house has gradually faded away in silence, no longer curling smoke; only broken bricks and tiles remain in the land of honeysuckle; the snow in June has long been the death of yesterday; Peidou no longer fishes, picks up bamboo poles and walks in the setting sun. The wind is blowing, I seem to be hiding in the world of grass, watching dandelion prison all over the sky. Is there still a dream, where is the dandelion I planted?
At a dead end, it is difficult to wield a whip, and my heart is lonely, how can I smell it? Bag ring, looking at the mobile phone screen, stagnant time and thinking, the next second in the ear, more familiar voice, full of joy. Quietly listening to what you say, how long I haven't seen the scene, the soul walks, stepping into too virtual. When I stated my recent situation to the upperclassman, the upperclassman said: find what you want to do and stick to it.
Bamboo leaves whirling, sitting by the bridge of wind and rain, uncovering the thick fog of history, tracing back to the origin, cleaning up the broken heart, I asked myself.
How many times to find the bamboo in life, just because of the solitude of the journey; how many times to seek the ocean of knowledge, but knocked down on the table; how many times to let go, but still hold on. It doesn't matter walking, it doesn't matter running. The mahogany clock in the old house is still ticking, and I have been living in the past.
Stop and go, when a ray of sunshine suddenly fell on my forehead. I looked up and smiled, my heart growing and blooming like a lotus. The so-called depression, but the loss of time in loneliness, in the heart does not rely on when the long lethargy? Everything is just right at the moment. I will immerse myself in the smell of books day and night, and I will often go out for a walk, look at the sun and smell the soil.
Author: seclusion
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