My memories

I love memories.
Always love.
I remember. When I was a child, I only knew that there were beautiful things in the world, but I didn’t know that there were ugly things; I only knew that there were good things, but I didn’t know that there were evil things. Too little to know, too little to understand. In that pure white age, I had to go forward. Let the tender hands play naughtily with the warm river water and the soft sandstone. Once I fished for stars in the river, believing that the brightest one must belong to me; once I picked fruit on the tree and enjoyed the fruits of labor with relish; once I danced for my little achievements; once I threw sincere coins in the beggar’s bowl.
Until one day, everything was stuffed into my schoolbag, into the long way to say goodbye to childhood, adults said, this is the beginning of growth.
I said I didn’t want to grow up.
I think the growth is terrible, when the footprints disappear, when the faces gradually blurred, I began to panic. I don’t want to live in fear of the future. I start counting the bits and pieces of the past. From insomnia at night to the ticking of clocks and watches to the day when I fork my calendar. How helpless and helpless I am living in a constant pursuit of my past.
Memories of death begin to wake up.
When I was in primary school, I always wondered if one day we would leave the classroom where our stories were scattered, would the growing kite be broken? If one day, someone else’s name was engraved on the desk belonging to us, would it mean the end of a period of time? If one day, the brick on the vermilion school gate would open. How can those beautiful memories continue when there are traces of peeling? If one day, we want to say goodbye, then where should everything go? Would it leave only a blank past?
At that time, we might run to the top floor of the teaching building together and tell stories of the past. When we think of the past, we always make a lot of trouble because of some small things. Why do we not know how to cherish until we say goodbye? Or we will sit together on the open grass and talk about the future and dreams. Somebody said, “What will we be like in junior high school?” The smiling face of the dress froze instantly. Meditation and meditation. Our sky is very small, but it carries too much hope and flying publicity, so we are so big in the sky. Why don’t we know how to treasure until we say goodbye? Or maybe we sing together: “The sky outside is wonderful, but we are helpless inside.”
Who sings in the classroom radio: Some stories are not finished, so forget it/Those feelings have been difficult to tell the truth from the truth in the years/Now here, there are no flowers in the weeds/Fortunately, once had your spring, autumn, winter and summer/Those laughter will still remind me of my flowers…
Why do we have to say goodbye to find that those exaggerated ideas are the deepest impression of youth. Finally, we were red-eyed and sweaty in our graduation photos.
In those days, I longed to grow up quickly and let my dream take me to broaden my horizon. Looking at the blue sky, fantasizing about a better future. Tomorrow, how can dreams mature and grow up? When the wind still blows, it can’t blow away the memory of childhood; when the sea keeps beating, it can’t wash away the traces of childhood. Suddenly looking back, I have left a long string of footprints on the grass. Looking into the distance, the footprints fade away and even disappear. I know that when I go a little further, there will be many footprints disappearing in my vision.
When all the good things are decorated with the “once” at last, we must say goodbye and set foot on the domineering train of youth, heading for the unknown field.
Along the way, we have to say goodbye to many things, such as memories. When the wind under the stars blows out the fireworks in my heart, farewell will be my final choice.
Farewell is a memorial to the past and a journey to the future.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *