My wife's romantic journey: I met those letters, and all my memories of youth was written in them.

"In the past, the color of the sun changed slowly, and cars, horses and mail were all slow. I have only loved one person in my life. "

Some people say that the letter link of My Wife's Romantic Travel II is really a large-scale dog food feeding scene.

In the film, four husbands write "I love you" on the page of stationery in different ways, which is both romantic and warm.

I was abused across the screen, crying and laughing, and then I thought that I hadn't received a letter for many years, and my heart was suddenly sour.

I don't know when QQ mailbox became popular, so I seldom write letters. With my own blog, I almost stop writing.

Later, with the roaming function of mobile phone, all the problems were solved by one phone call, and Lian Bi and paper were rarely used; Then wechat has video and voice functions, and even QQ and blogs no longer have letters written by friends.

I almost forgot that I was once a person who wrote all my troubles in a letter.

1

Health school, I study in a small town more than 600 kilometers away from home, live on campus and go home once a semester.

In the 1990s, communication and transportation were not very developed, and writing letters was almost the only way for us to contact with the outside world.

My first letter was addressed to my best friend in junior high school.

At that time, the students in the class came from all over the province, and they had been in school for almost a month, and everyone had not yet got acquainted.

I was more introverted and timid at that time. Not only did I not make friends for a month, but I only had dinner and class with my roommates.

At that time, I felt a little inferior.

I think it's an ugly duckling with average grades, average looks and no special skills.

However, I believe that when you first arrive in a new environment and a new unit, these labels will definitely make you stand out from the crowd.

Including schools, is no exception.

Therefore, seeing some friends in the dormitory join the student union, some join the class cadres, and some join the corresponding clubs by playing basketball and singing, I feel that my sense of existence is negative.

In addition, the panic of leaving home for the first time, the timidity of integrating into strange circles, and the pressure from my studies all made me a little depressed.

One weekend, I hid in the classroom, and wrote all these troubles and worries, as well as the thoughts of my old classmates, on a piece of paper, filled with three big characters and written all morning.

After writing, fold it into the shape of a dove and stuff it neatly into the envelope.

I held it carefully, ran to the post office opposite the school, bought a stamp worth (0.8 yuan), and solemnly dropped the letter into the green mailbox at the door.

From the moment the letter was thrown out, I began to count the days, waiting to get it back.

Two days, three days ... every day at noon, in the second class, when the bell rang, I rushed from the third floor to the first floor, blocked at the door of the mailroom, waiting for the postman to deliver the letter.

The postman comes once a day and delivers newspapers and letters at this time every time.

Actually, I'm not the only one stuck at the door.

Everyone craned their necks to look at the door. As soon as they saw the postman come in, they all vacated the aisle, eagerly waiting for the uncle in the mailroom, signed all the letters and put them on the windowsill one by one. Here comes the hula dance.

However, before that, the bell rang. Those who receive the letter and those who don't will rush upstairs again.

In those days, I went to see every class, but I never received a reply. I was depressed for several days, until one day, I waited for a "big pie falling from the sky".

That day, I was lying in the dormitory reading a book when the head of the room came back from outside and handed me a letter.

When I got the letter, I looked at the handwriting and signature. I was "shocked" and shouted two words: "It's him."

Yes, that's him, my first love.

Take that letter and I'll confirm it again and again. The sender's address is xxx, Class 7, Grade 1, No.1 Middle School.

God, why did he write to me?

I confirmed it dozens of times, and finally I was sure it was him.

I got into the mosquito net and opened it eagerly. I cried when I saw the familiar handwriting on the green square manuscript paper. I still remember a few paragraphs in the letter.

After reading this letter, I took it to heart and smiled through tears: it turned out that he understood me.

Strange to say, it is such a letter that I can't find it from beginning to end. A short message that said "I like you" suddenly lit up my gloomy youth.

I soon got out of the swamp of youth and became active.

It's a pity that he has been preparing for the university since then, and we never wrote again. We only met once in winter and summer vacations.

But he has always lived in my most beautiful memory. I like him, silently guarding time and my heart.

I watched him silently for five years from graduation to work.

Never disturb him, watch him go to college from a distance, bring his girlfriend back for the holidays, get married and settle in Beijing until he immigrates to Canada.

From beginning to end, he never gave me a promise, never said "I love you", and I didn't know that a girl had waited for him for five years.

That letter followed me across the ocean, from the small town where I went to school to my hometown and then to my work unit. Until I got married and had children, I moved north and south, bumping all the way and being displaced all the way. So far, I am safe and sound, rain or shine.

If you are happy, that is the end.

My young child, as long as you live better than me, all the waiting is worth it.

2

In my student days, no one would be laughed at by his classmates if.

At that time, magazines such as Reader, Liaoning Youth and Girlfriend were particularly popular, and the school library was updated every issue.

I am a frequent visitor to the library. As soon as school is over, I will go there to "squat", take notes and read celebrity gossip.

After reading it, I always secretly pay attention to the dating information posted at the bottom of those magazines.

Most of the people who write this information are students or soldiers.

General information will be accompanied by a sentence and contact address.

If I see something that touches me, I will write down his address in the manuscript, go back and filter it, and then write and send it.

At that time, I had about five pen pals, who often wrote letters, and I sent and received letters every 10 day.

At that time, he was a soldier in Hainan, who could reach the same point and have the same dream.

We write letters almost once a week.

Looking back now, I actually admire him a little. He not only writes well, but also writes well. Most importantly, he is super handsome.

He once sent a photo, which caused quite a stir in our dormitory. That photo is still in the letter.

In the photo, he is wearing a navy camouflage uniform, standing straight under the coconut tree, with the blue sea, scenery and the man's sea behind him. Now I think it will be sunny.

Later, this photo has been firmly at the top of the gossip topic in our dormitory.

My correspondence with him lasted for four years, and we didn't hear from him until I joined the work and he recovered and returned to Datong, Shanxi.

In fact, I have corresponded with him for 44 years and have never met him. I've always wanted to call him "brother and sister" and talk about trifles in school and the army.

But since I met him, Datong in Shanxi has become the warmth in my heart.

Watching the weather forecast will pay special attention to Datong, and people around you will feel particularly close.

For so many years, I have never been to Datong once.

The contents of those letters are vague, except for a poem he especially likes: but since the water is still running, although we cut it with swords, it is even more sad to raise a glass.

I didn't quite understand why he liked this poem at that time. Now I seem to understand him, but we are far apart.

Hello, big brother:

See a letter like a face, see a word like a meeting;

People become different, today is not yesterday;

Everything in the world is exhausted,

Only the fragrance remains the same.

Little sister: xxx

03

Soon, the internship period arrived, and dozens of letters were hidden in my suitcase.

It's okay. I'll take it out and have a look.

At that time, the alphabetical order I read was always like this:

Male classmates, female classmates, pen pals, family members.

By the time I graduated, more than 300 letters had accumulated in the box.

I don't want to throw away any of them. I locked them in a box with my manuscript and photo album and shipped them back to my hometown from 600 kilometers away.

Later, they moved to the hospital dormitory, their married home and the new house I bought ten years later.

They have been waiting for me in my hometown since I came to the south seven years ago.

When I came home last Spring Festival, I took an afternoon off, sat on the carpet, opened the box and spread all the photo albums, manuscripts and more than 300 letters on the floor.

When I sorted all the letters, I found that my father, sister and brother had written me more than 70 letters.

I can't wait to pick up the heart my father wrote to me. When I opened the first letter, I cried.

The yellow manuscript paper and my father's clear and powerful handwriting brought me back to the Mid-Autumn Festival in the first semester.

That night, my roommate and I quarreled in the lower berth. My roommate didn't cry, but I cried (I was a crying child at that time).

That night, I cried and wrote home, saying that I didn't want to go to school and wanted to go home.

In fact, when the letter was posted, my roommate and I were already fighting and laughing.

Who knows, three days later, mom and grandpa suddenly appeared at the door of the dormitory.

At that time, I was scared.

Isn't the family busy with the autumn harvest? Why did they come?

It turned out that they were worried and anxious after receiving my letter. They felt that they could not understand the letter. After the whole family discussed it, they sent their mother and grandfather to school to find out.

Mom and grandpa only stayed at school for one day, so they were relieved to see me alive and kicking, and took the early bus back the next day.

The day after they left, I received a letter from my father. There is not a word of worry on the paper, just one or two lists telling me how to get along with my classmates and how to integrate into them as soon as possible.

I soon forgot about it after my mother left.

On Sunday, I was the only one left in the dormitory and the head of the team. She told me that my mother bought fruit for my friends in the dormitory before she left, so please take care of me.

I also went to the teacher's dormitory and told the teacher about my family and my personality, asking the teacher to care more about me.

But at that time, I forgot what I had seen and heard, and I couldn't understand the urgency of "children going to Wan Li Road".

When I came home during the winter vacation, my brother told me that my father didn't go to school to see me because his foot was broken. I had just finished internal fixation when I received my letter.

I remember, my brother told me that it was snowing heavily outside that day, and my brother and I were around the stove with tears, tossing and turning the sweet potatoes baked on the iron stove.

Now, the smell of baked sweet potato is mixed with our tears, which impacts me like a tsunami, and I can't help it.

After so many years, my grandfather, who went to school to see me, is over 90 years old and paralyzed in bed. He will never travel all over the country by coach again in his life.

My parents, who are nearly 70 years old, are still like heroes. They will come to see me with their mobile phones, inquire all the way, fly and take the high-speed train.

When people reach middle age, I am still their concern and nostalgia.

Now, we don't write letters anymore.

When I miss them, I pick up my mobile phone and make a phone call. Dad has learned to contact me with WeChat video. Whenever I have time, I sit on the balcony with my mother and take out my mobile phone to find Wifi.

They don't know. I keep these letters. Neither do I. I always miss sending and receiving letters.

What I miss is the wordless touch and pure feelings;

What I miss is the concern of my parents and the homesickness of leaving home;

What I miss is the youth that I can never go back.

The next time I go home, I must take those letters and sit around the fire with my parents, crying while watching them.

Next time I go home, I decided to take my pen pal's letter to Datong, Shanxi Province, and look for the alley in the letter.

Next time I go home, I'm going to ask my junior high school classmate, is he okay with my first love?

Next time I go home, I must take these letters back to the south.

I think, with their company, I should not be too homesick.

(Ps:？ Do you want to receive this letter/do you have any stories related to this letter? You can send an email to: 1062907079@qq.com, I will wait for you in the drizzle in the south. )