The boy became a doctor when he grew up and was busy all day. And his relationship with his girlfriend is always unsatisfactory. He helped his good friend realize his dream of becoming a doctor, but his friend felt that becoming a baker would bring him more happiness. My girlfriend felt that she was not suitable for that boy and left him.

When the boy's mother died, the boy was determined to find his true love, and the deaf-mute girl by the sea had grown into a cellist. When two people meet again, the shadows overlap again. I will never see you again, and I will never hear you call my name again, just like you used to do every morning. I can no longer smell the fragrance that suits you on your clothes, and I can no longer share my happiness and sadness with you. We can no longer talk to each other, and you can no longer sort out the mimosa in the vase in the living room, which I picked for you at the end of January. You will never wear a summer straw hat again, and you will never wear a Kashmir shawl that you put on your shoulders when the first cold wave strikes in autumn. When the garden is covered with snow in December, you will never light the fireplace again. You left before spring came, and you left me without warning. When I learned that you had left on the platform, I felt lonely as never before. You can see that the other person is speaking against your wishes. This is a friend, isn't it? Whether she believes in God or not, mother will never die completely. In the heart of her beloved child, she will be immortal. "I have been in it all my life. The photo, the only letter my mother wrote to me, and his memories about my mother were all posted in it, and now only the ashes are left. " Ivan tried to open the cover, but the pages turned to ashes at his fingertips. I told myself it was a good thing to be with him. "Your head didn't burn out, your memory didn't disappear, as long as you remember. We can copy your mother's letter again. Maybe we haven't been able to draw those photos yet. " My childhood was there, a little sad, a little sad. In this small town in other provinces, I waited in despair for Elizabeth to be merciful and look at me, waiting for me to grow up in despair. "I like to see the fine lines around my mother's mouth and eyes. I know she hates them, but these fine lines make me feel at ease. I read the trace of our dependence from her face. When I come back here, maybe I miss not my childhood, but my mother, the time we spent together, the supermarket life on Saturday afternoon, the dinner we shared together, and the occasional relative silence, but I feel more intimate with each other. Many nights she came to my room to accompany me. She would lean against me and put her hand into my hair ... Time flies, but these simplest moments are firmly engraved in our hearts. " Big cities are maddening. They suck your soul dry and spit it out like chewing gum. I am only a shadow in your life, but you occupy an important position in my life. If I am just a passer-by, why did you let me into your life? I want to leave you a thousand times, but I can't do it myself. She stared at me and wrote on the paper with a smile: "You stole my shadow, and I will always think of you wherever you are. When stealing other people's shadows, the first thing to do is to keep the secrets of others that you know. Growing children are always not enthusiastic about their parents out of an almost pure selfishness. You appear in a black dress, a red silk scarf is stuck in your hair, a man is holding your slender waist, and you smile sweetly at him. I feel my heart is broken and I feel extremely fragile. I watched you snuggle up to this man, looking at him with the way you looked at me in your dream. He is so tall beside you that I look so small when I am alone in the aisle. I am willing to give everything to be a man around you, but I can only be me, the shadow of your childhood love, and the shadow of my adulthood. People often leave some small things behind. Some moments in life are printed in the dust of time, and we can try to ignore them, but these trivial things form a chain bit by bit, which firmly connects you with the past. Beautiful meeting is sometimes a matter of time. Two people should meet at the right time. I have read such a poem: There is a kind of hate, love born in the wrong age, and it is a long way to go in this life. Look everywhere, walk everywhere. I have never met the right peerless beauty-my lover. Are you in that distant place? Are you waiting, too Holding a candle lamp over and over again, sitting on the balcony reading thousands of years of historical stories. That day came with the wind, I slept in the snow, and the flowers touched my lips and landed on the first page of the history book. But you are still afraid that I will freeze ... In fact, the best memory is right now, right in front of you, and it will be the best time of my life.