Fiction logo

The continuous rain

memory

By JackmamaPublished 2 years ago 4 min read
Like

I stand at the flow of time, listening to your pleasant visit, reaching out to welcome you, your tenderness, more than the encounter of the past; I stand at the passing of time, at the head of the lotus, looking at you kissing the lotus leaves, talking about tea and rice. The old school is like dust and smoke, floating in my thoughts, and the new school has become a journey, carrying big dreams on its shoulders, while you remain unchanged, only visiting leisurely and spreading the summer dew.

  You are the rain at the passing of time, dressed in thick dust, shadowed into the remote nothingness, waiting for a lifetime of reverie, the beauty of life.

  You sneak into the earth, quietly touching the veins of the leaves, quietly scrutinizing the delicate flowers, but still do not feel happy, portable friends at the invitation of the lotus water, held a grand ball on the water. The dancing is so beautiful and dexterous that it has attracted the attention of the people in the rain and smoke. Because of you, this famous school, which stretches for a hundred years, has been transformed into a fairyland. The mist is faint, the mountains and woods are swimming with green silk and white veil; the silk rain is lingering, three or two lines of people strolling the elegant wooden path; the flowing water is rustling, a precipitation of fragrance playing curling afterglow.

  You roam around the campus with the light steps of students. You walk across the small wooden bridge, with the fragrance, you come to the fragrant cafeteria. Here, laughter is woven in the space, order is staged in every moment, and CD-ROM action is implemented in practice. As you pass by, the trees on either side of you hold up a moment of tranquility, and the library appears leisurely in the crowd. As you look at the giant, you remember the words of your ancestors: At night, the light shines brightest here, and it can break through the darkness to the faraway places. You are silent and enter with the students. At this moment, an extreme silence comes to you, no more rain, no more trivial words, only the swish of books, only the rustle of pen and paper. The long summer and the rest of the winter are like this. You walk faithfully, in the joyful beckoning of the branches and leaves, gladly went to the way of the art building. In the snap of your fingers, you happen to look up and see a tall building in your eyes. The music of the piano floats out from it, reflecting the smoke and rain in the air and passing away. It seems like high mountains and flowing water, like a heart of light and elegant, like a magnificent, like a whispered chant. The students found a piano room, playing the Jinsei years, you lying shoulder drunk, disappeared without a trace.

  You are the rain at the flow of time, surrounded by mountains, accompanied by my drifting new school, Ran almost seeped into every gap, warming the hazy newborn.

  The dark clouds came in response to you, nibbling at the boundless sky and earth, as if embellished with thick and light ink. It should be the peak of the time, you dive into the mortal world, wandering between the tall towers, kissing on the steep buildings, playing in the crowd. You came with the wind, blowing the wisps of the towering building, startled the people on top of the sky, messed up their plain clothes, danced with their hair, blew its lead. You lightly embraced my hand, giving me warmth and softness, giving me a frightening touch. You and I used to understand each other, long time no see if the shadow, now the want to meet, should be the old know other country meet, I face you tear kiss.

  The playground is green, the grass is low to guard a pure land, the umbrella under the umbrella of the people walking hazy rain. The basketball dancing place, surging shouting resounding, athletic figure leaping, sweat beads embracing the earth. You decorated my window, your eyes reflecting the glittering new tables and chairs, the gorgeous whiteboard world and the passionate teachers above the podium, the students below the podium listen with bated breath. You float, swim, you see that wonderful body green shirt dance, a knit and a smile all show flowing water; you see that space in a slight trembling, is that heavenly music floating leisurely; you see that that a quiet place, three or two students in the book in the meaning of thorny. You do your last strength, floating on the earth, vaguely see the dawn rendering dark clouds, and you are gradually blurred ......

   I look forward to your every visit, want to have a heartfelt embrace with you in the world, so quietly, I stand between heaven and earth, let you carve your tender feelings on my body.

Short Story
Like

About the Creator

Jackmama

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.