When we first met, the buds were green, and you sat by the willow tree, looking up at the blue sky and white clouds. The music in the distance is crisp and cheerful, and the breeze blows out wisps of fragrance. You pick up fallen leaves and play beautiful music. Time seems to have stopped at that moment. I stare at you and listen to you.
I passed you several times and you didn't notice me. The feeling of loss is so obvious. In a corner of the library at dusk, I found you both familiar and unfamiliar, staring at the book in your hand and never leaving. Thinking, "If I were a book, I hope you can read it so carefully." Maybe my sincerity touched God. Your eyes slowly turned to me, and I was addicted to nodding and smiling. You got up and turned to leave, and I was still watching the back of your departure fade away.
I don't know how long it took, but I met another corner of the library. You are still absorbed in your study. I look at you with joy. This time, you didn't get up and leave, but came up to me with a smile and a look, as if you had told me. Nice to meet you. We looked at each other silently.
At this time, there was the sound of rain in the window. The sound is so beautiful that before I could enjoy it, the curator informed me that it was time to read and the students would come back tomorrow. He said, would you like to go with me? I don't think you have an umbrella. I nodded happily, so we listened to the drip of rain on the umbrella. What wonderful music!
From then on, I will go to the library every weekend. Coincidentally, every time you appear in that library, you come to me with a smile and say, are you here to read in the library? I replied without thinking, "If I can, I want to be a book in your hand." . He smiled and touched my head and said, "Idiot, then I will hold you in my hand." We smiled at each other. On the street at dusk, a pair of lovely shadows were left.
The time of companionship always passes so quickly. We made an appointment to meet at the willow tree that afternoon. The sky is still so blue, and the young green tree has grown into dark green leaves, swaying in the wind like a dancing elf. You looked at me with a solemn expression, walked up to me and said, would you like to come with me? I froze, just looking at you so silly, feeling a little sad and lost. You asked me again, "Would you like to go with me?" I really have no courage. I smiled and shook my head and turned around. I looked up at the sky and said, take care.
On the day he left, it began to rain in Mao Mao, and it fell on my hand bit by bit from the top of my head. Suddenly, for a moment, I wanted to hug him, but I stopped, and the story seemed to end here.
The willow is becoming more and more dense, and its trunk is becoming stronger and stronger. When it went to Qiu Lai in spring, a meaningful line was left on the trunk of the willow tree. It said, "I would like to spend the rest of my life reading a book, but that book is you." I felt the thread, and my heart ached. I looked up at the sky, afraid to lower my head, for fear of tears. It would be great if life were like the first time.
At the end of the story, we became the most familiar strangers. It seems that all the encounters are not to draw a full stop to the story, but to make the story intriguing and full of regrets.