If you think about it, in addition to last year's "Wangchong Yang", very few people were invited to write. Non-combat hair loss has been a full year now. Although there is a great improvement, the symptoms are still there. For a long time, try to control writing less, except for the occasional record of life, send a vibrato, send a circle. A few days ago, the farts were strawberry-flavored little fairies, and they had just spent their birthdays outside. Last night, a few of the dorm's henchmen went out for a small gathering. In the evening, I sent beautiful party photos, and arrogantly asked me to write something to praise her. To be honest, it's a bit of a bummer. Propositional essay, I am not interested at all. No matter how well it is written, the fairy always has to write a little when she opens her mouth.
Years do not wait for people, and they are old in a flash. The fairy's words inadvertently reminded me. At that time, it was also at this age that he began a long "North Drift" life. After traveling to several cities, I finally came to this small city and settled down for more than ten years. It's really like a year of water flowing. What is like the flow of water, as the writer Wang Xiaobo wrote: Just like a person who has been evil, lying at the bottom of the river, watching the babbling water, sparkling waves, fallen leaves, driftwood, empty wine bottles, the same flow from the body. I love his metaphors about time, so graphic and communicative.
Yesterday, you fell to the ground, full of folds, weak and windy. The biological clock is upside down, sleeping during the day, crying all night. In the blink of an eye, I have learned to walk, and after the first fall, I dare not walk on my own for a long time. When swinging, i stumbled down without noticing, and my small lips turned high. Hearing the trumpet, I twisted the small kettle and stood in the corner of the wall, looking far away. In the blink of an eye, the little man, put on his school bag and went to school.... Today, I am back in the city where I was born, and I have the appearance of a junior sister.
Watching the fairy grow up day by day, step by step, into her own sky. One day, your sky will rain, and I will no longer be shaded and shaded in your rain, because I will not be able to catch up with you forever, nor do I have to chase you all the time. Long Yingtai wrote: I slowly learned that the so-called father-daughter mother-son relationship only means that your fate with him is that you are constantly watching his back drift away in this life and this life. You stand at this end of the path and watch him fade away where the path turns, and he tells you with his back: No need to chase.
Today's little girl has grown into a big fairy. The scar marks of acne are still faintly visible on the face of the four sides, the thick long hair is tied up with a tall ponytail, the glasses on the bridge of the nose add a little bit of bookishness, and the height of nearly 170 centimeters is evenly spread to cover the weight, dressed appropriately, talking freely, everything looks so natural and coordinated. All the parents of "my family has a daughter who has just grown up" are full of joy. As the saying goes, a daughter is her parents' little cotton jacket. So do we. You are no longer the kite we hold the line in our hands, you grow up to walk out of the warm little home, to the vast world, the laughter and laughter at home will be replaced by a forward trumpet, and the thoughts of parents have long become concerns.
Gibran once said: Your children are not actually your children, they are the children born of life's desire for itself. What you can shelter is their body, but not their soul, because their soul belongs to tomorrow, to tomorrow that you cannot dream of. We don't impose our ideals on you, your path, your own planning, and when you grow up, you understand.
Here I recommend a book to the fairy, that is, Bi Shumin's "Essays for Daughters". Whether it is the exploration of women's status, fate and characteristics, including a number of ultimate questions, or the sharp touch of women's individual conditions, as well as the sharp touch of the public's concerned discourse, percussion, all contain the unique wisdom and delicacy of women, in leisure time, if you have the opportunity, you may wish to read it, may give you a little understanding and enlightenment, to help you improve the realm of life.
Lin Hua thanked Chun Hong, too hurried, it was the poet who was asking about time. There was a bush of roses nestled by the wall, and one night the wind and rain, the red petals fell to the ground. In the hourglass of time, the fine sand flow is time. In the faint sandalwood, time burns out. Time is like an arrow, you are an adult. The road ahead is still very long, just ask you to be a healthy, peaceful, happy fairy, and I will shield you from the wind and rain on the road ahead.
Life is actually like a road from a wide plain into the forest. On the plains companions may walk in groups, joyfully pushing forward and backward, and frothing with each other; once in the forest, the grass and thorns stand in the way, and each one concentrates on each other's path, looking for their own direction. Some things can only be done by one person. Some levels can only be passed by one person. Some roads can only be walked by one person. Since you have chosen a distant place, you will only take care of the wind and rain.
You will always be the little fairy in your parents' heart! Finally, send this sentence to your "post-00s" – no matter what, remember: if you have light, the world will no longer be dark.
Rizhao Big Poetry Brother Original: September 21, 2020