I grew up like this.

Looking back always with a little sadness!

The sky is gray and the weather in January is cold. The wind blew and the leaves danced lightly. The management is noon, but it is still cold and thorough. Tas tell their stories in their own unique way, how can I tell them.

Time passed by. The hour hand on the clock can go back to the starting point, but it is not yesterday. The same time, the same sky, the same cold.

Years ago, a child, pulling his mother's hand, opened his mouth and cried and said to his mother: Mom, I won't let you go. Hey... Once a year, let the children miss and remember the feeling of having a mother. Still, my mother still left! . The only child left in the cold wind. The bamboo leaves flying in the sky have been slowly falling for a long time! He knows that his mother can't be with her every day, can't play with her, can't pick up her school, can't... But he knows that she can see her mother at this time next year, so he told himself not to cry.

The leaves danced and rested, and the dead leaves on the ground covered one layer after another. He has been able to go to school himself, not escorting his grandmother! leaving alone. The road to go home is very long! His eyes are full of expectations, the first time he went home, the distant home is getting closer. Carelessly, fell to the side of the road and rubbed the skin. The cry is very loud. But no one heard it, only one person.

The tears dried up, the child sat on the ground, he missed the mother, but the mother was not there. He knows that now he knows he can stand up, go home, go home alone; he knows that not every time he falls, someone will stretch out and pull himself. Now it is, and so is the future. So he told himself that he would not cry in the future. Gradually he learned to be strong.

In the past few years, the town has changed a lot, and the way home is not so long. In the small country, the parents asked him where he wanted to read. He replied firmly: Just here! I am used to this! - There are a lot of memories of your own...

In the cold wind, a few birdsong came from time to time. In this cold winter, it is so crisp and beautiful. In the classroom, he is listening to God. Many students watched him. Today, as a squad leader, many of his classmates hate him: he will only complain about it. Once a friend, a former brother, hated him. He cried and cried so much that he had told himself not to cry, but he could not hold on. Not strong, but strong for too long. Tears crossed his face and shone in the sun. He knows that his own path can only go by himself, no one can accompany himself.

The child many years ago was me. I walked alone on this road, looking up at the sky and seeing the sun...

Third day: Jiangcheng