Mountain City rain dream

Mountain City rain dream

[Editor’s note]: The rain moistens my mind, and the slight sadness passes through the rain and fog …… the memory in my heart blossoms in the rain, and the flowing picture unfolds in the rain curtain. After reading this article, readers’ thoughts are unconsciously drawn into the rain environment described by the author, feeling the author’s feelings. This is a very beautiful prose with clear language and clear road. I recommend it to you! I lost a dream in the mountain city. In the dream, the rain pattered. — Inscription spring was squeezed into the corner when summer came back casually. When poetry was dim, I hadn’t understood spring yet, but the summer solstice had arrived. Yanji, this small mountain city opened its eyes in the day when the fleeting time returned, recalling the Dreamtalk about rain just said. Since the military training, I have always defined the rain in this mountain city as warmth. Mild, amorous. The rain is always pattering and short, and it seems to intentionally or unintentionally create a dream for me to make up for the beauty of the incomplete reality. The rain will always be intermittent many times in a day, as if her love was destined to love all the people in the world from the very beginning. When she fell in love with the place, she would fly lightly and give a shower. Every drop of rain represents a deep kiss, and every kiss is romantic into a story about this little mountain city, about the people who get wet in the rain in this little mountain city. Because I couldn’t expect heavy rain, I formed the habit of not wearing umbrellas. When the rain was pattering, I shuttled quietly in the colorful world woven by an umbrella and an umbrella. Silently looking at the back of a boy and a girl walking side by side under an umbrella, he slowed down and raised his mouth. Reach out quietly and look up at the sky from a 45-degree perspective. The sky was dim, and the rain fell on my palm intermittently. So coldness began to compete with the warmth of palm. Somehow, the long and straight love line in my palm broke in a blink of an eye, recording their memories one by one. I just don’t have my name in my memory. I like to look for strangers in the rain curtain in the same time and space as me. I like to look for lovers running with ten fingers in the rain curtain. I like to look for the person who can look back and feel full when one passes another in the rain curtain. I prefer to look for people who edit life movie pictures in the rain curtain like me. If you have the similarity of soul, then you can live up to the opportunity of being in the same mountain city. When the wind rains and lonely, it coincides with the memory of the past of youth soaked in dust. On a rainy day in my memory, I sat behind a stranger’s bicycle with a dark blue plaid umbrella in my palm. His back blocked all my sight, and his hearty laughter told me that he was very kind and warm when I felt uneasy. That is the most unique gift when I believe it inexplicably, and it is also the proof that the world needs to keep warm with each other. It was also a rainy day in my memory. A young man who was not familiar with me held up a purple umbrella for me. His delicate outline flickered under the dim light, the clearly jointed hand held the handle of the umbrella lightly, and the white shirt ran after the night wind. I clearly heard the beautiful music of raindrops hitting on the umbrella, and in the hazy touch, I imagined two shadows that would not appear. Two lonely shadows, I don’t know when to cross and disperse. At that time, I couldn’t interpret the verdant past, but now in the nearly one year of entering the university, I have understood that no matter in a certain year, a certain month, when and where, I will embrace every encounter and miss in this world in the rain curtain of youth. Because nobody said that we met just for mutual fulfillment? To fulfill a dream that I think it is beautiful but can’t write a complete ending. Rain and patter. I stretched out my hand again in the rain curtain to touch the coldness of my palm and the warmth of my heart. I know that in the rain Lane in the south of the Yangtze River, there must be a sad lilac girl lost a poet’s dream at this moment. However, when the rain came to an end, the small mountain city in the North lost my dream sadly.

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