It is the dazzling maple leaves under the setting sun, swaying in the autumn wind, and evoking the secrets of my heart with irrepressible colors.
I was 20 years old and she was 18. One afternoon we met to go hiking. The red maples that covered the mountains were as red as her shirts. The rocks were piled up and crumbling, and I took her hand and climbed tremblingly, the wind gently blowing through the maple leaves, and the emotions rippled in my chest, although it was only the two of us, but I did not dare to kiss her, although from her autumn waves a circle of laughter rippled like ripples that touched the shore of my heart that was about to collapse.
At the top of the mountain, we walked through the maple forest, singing, running, chasing, like crazy, her red shirt fluttering with the wind, like a red maple fairy. Tired of running, he sat down on the ground, said the most beautiful words, and let the lyrical maple leaves spread to the distance. At this moment, we feel that time is liquid, the sky is liquid... Everything is so gentle.
I didn't feel that it was dark, but we got lost in the mountains, and we groped in the mountains for two or three hours in a hurry, and we didn't go down the mountain, and finally found the grass shed where the summer farmers watched the melons in a mountain flat, so that she would not be attacked by the autumn wind, I made a small door with branches, and I guarded the outside of the account like a guard until the golden rooster announced. Long nights, emotional waves stir in the heart from time to time, and from time to time splash out inexplicable impulses. However, the banks of pure emotion and reason seemed to be impregnable, blocking the soaring waves, and I held on to the original purity.
When she woke up the next morning, she was crying, crying so sadly, that under my repeated questioning, she said: Last night she quietly used a wooden stick to hold the door against it, and when she woke up, she saw that the door did not move at all...
Looking at her with ice and jade, my eyes were wet.
We broke up anyway, but that night, the little door woven from the branches, and her tears in the morning, became an eternal treasure in my memory.