Weak and windy but beautiful

The senior high school entrance examination is approaching. I came to the river with my mother. In the summer, it seems that everything has changed, or more new ideas, or more repression. The world was drizzling, I was so sighing, but I couldn’t dissipate the depression that was still in my heart. I silently bowed my head and my mother was speechless. Suddenly, a green sway in my eyes, the ruthless beating of the rain did not have a trace of pity for it, the wind is still screaming at the end of the hysteria, the sky is gradually darkening... the river is empty, no pedestrians, mother I have to go, but I don't want to be like this. Her helpless back is getting farther and farther away... I only have the deafening thunder, the sloppy rain, the empty lawn and me. She still raised her head, arrogantly watching the flowers around her head, and the summer flowers are no longer like brocade. The raindrops invaded me, I couldn’t help but blink, but I didn’t want to leave, because the grass that was in the ordinary days, it stood still, facing the roar, facing the wind of the hysteria... no doubt, In the eyes of the people, he is an ordinary "weak". No, no, it is beautiful. It interprets persistence and gives a insistence to a person who can't find a direction in black June. In the early morning, there was another worldly brilliance in the stream, but it was no longer the reason for me to stop, but the grass, the grass that made me understand. The sky may have been touched by the persistence of the "weak" and began to clear. I took a deep breath, and I was taken away in this way... I watched it silently. Undoubtedly, this is the two weak people who have seen the heart and the blood of the two. "I should insist, I must insist!" Now, I always want to be smooth forever, but I forgot that "every day will be a big man, then I will suffer from my heart and work hard." Only when you insist on "in the rain" can you see the rainbow. It is so weak that it is beautiful. This beauty is called strong, which insists on washing away my haze in black June, suppressing...

The third day: the knife is not full of anger