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Waiting for the door

by dawjackson 4 months ago in art
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door

here are many people who wait for us in life, making us feel warm and down-to-earth.

The elevator door was about to slowly close, suddenly a hand blocked, and the elevator door slowly opened, "Wait a minute", with a shout, a yellow coat, wearing a yellow helmet delivery boy flashed in, his forehead seeped with a layer of fine sweat, steaming hot. His hurried gaze wanted to search for the person who reached out his hand for him to "leave the door", but it seemed that several people at the door were. He was too embarrassed to look again, but just pressed his chest against the door with a smile and an apology, muttering "thank you" under his breath.

One by one, the people on the platform got on, the bus driver was ready to close the door, when a man came running from far behind the car, waving his hand and shouting "Wait a minute". The driver heard the shout, glanced at the rearview mirror, pressed his hand on the steering wheel, tilted his head and yawned. The man panted and got into the car, the door "bang" closed. He looked at the driver gratefully, but because he was gasping for air, he just nodded his head, and the driver said loudly, "Slow down, there are seats in the back."

When school was over, the kindergarten came alive with children chattering and jumping around, like a cage of pigeons being released. Those tiny hands were held by one big hand, and they flew up. All that was left was a little girl with crocheted hair and bright eyes, staring blankly out of the classroom. The teacher squatted in front of her and whispered, "Don't be afraid, let's wait for your mom and dad together." So the two of them just sat at the door and waited.

It was dark, and all the lights were on, but the people had not yet returned. As the night wore on, the lights on the floor went out one by one, but one light was still on, and the mother was wearing presbyopic glasses, knitting a sweater in her hand, and the rice was still warm in the pot. Hearing the familiar footsteps upstairs, the mother went into the bedroom at ease. When he entered the door, the warmth emanating from his mother's body had not yet dissipated. He quietly went to the kitchen, picked up a hot bun and stuffed it into his mouth. At this point the wind began to pick up outside the house, and the house was quiet and warm.

The middle-aged man followed the surgical cart and arrived at the door of the operating room, where the doctor told him to stop and wait outside the door. After his father was wheeled into the operating room, the door closed with a bang, sending a shiver through the middle-aged man's heart. For a few long hours, he sat for a while, paced in the corridor, checked his phone for a while, looked out the window for a while, if not at the door of the operating room, how to look at this is a dull and quiet middle-aged man. A few hours later, the door to the operating room opened with a bang, a nurse called out the bed number, he rushed over and leaned over to see his father, who was wearing an oxygen mask and had white hair.

......

In life, some people wait for us, we also wait for others. Some of them get along with each other, some pass by, some are engraved with memories, and some are breezy and leave no trace. At some point, when we rush or anxiously walk into a door waiting for us, we may have a feeling of "people watching the scenery": a person suddenly runs into a rainbow from a storm, the rainbow is like a door, outside the door is gray, but inside is bright and dazzling, the wings of birds and shaking leaves are clearly visible. The wings of the birds and the leaves of the trees are clearly visible.

People living under one roof, entering and leaving through the door. The door, will remember who has not returned, as if there is a space in the door always reserved for someone. The world outside the door is noisier than the clatter of pots and pans, the laughter of children, and the familiar chatter of parents. Some people leave the door, leaving the old home, to live abroad, and do not return to the hometown for many years, the old house still stands in the wind and rain. Long years without the return of the old man, tiles broken, walls collapsed, but the door frame is still standing there, the empty doorway like the old cloudy eyes, always looking.

There are many doors in the world, waiting for the door, sometimes a kindness, sometimes a warmth, sometimes a kind of expectation. The door is the boundary, in this boundary, the sun will pass through the years, illuminating the bottom of a person's heart.

art

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dawjackson

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