Ask a love story about pencils, paper and erasers. It is said that pencils like paper and paper likes erasers. Ask for a complete story and attach its meaning.

The story of white paper, pencil and eraser

Me, a clean piece of white cardboard. Like to live by the rules. Therefore, I am always used to cutting myself into angular squares.

A barren body and an empty mind. Never let anything leave a mark there, even a dragonfly's spot.

I live my life quietly, admiring my white clothes.

"Let me decorate your life." On the same day, pencils and erasers suddenly came into my life. Before I refused, the pencil began to step on me. I can do nothing about her impudence. Gradually, I began to appreciate it. It turned out that his trampling was so graceful and elegant, and he exuded an innate noble temperament from that tall body. I admit that I am in love with pencils.

I love pencils silently and let her draw her favorite patterns on me, such as square eggs, winged cups, monkeys eating bamboo … As long as she likes, I never complain that her footprints ruined my white shirt.

Like me, I love pencils and erasers silently. Give silently to love him. Pencil is a woman who pursues perfection. If there is something unsatisfactory in the painting, she will shout "little eraser, come here quickly." The eraser didn't say a word after hearing it, but ran quickly, and then carefully erased those typos.

I know he loves her. But I never put an eraser in my eyes. It's short and fat. I have embraced the big sun of pencil when I am happy, the fist when I am sad, the small bridge when I am comfortable ... Eraser-a man who can only answer all her requirements, how can he be my opponent!

I still stared at the pencil silently, and the pencil kept drawing, and the eraser was obedient. As the days passed, I gradually found that the pace of the pencil slowed down and the lines drawn were not as smooth as before. Yes, she's getting old. The eraser is thinner with the old pencil day by day. He is no longer a fat man.

"Little eraser ... help me erase all the patterns on the paper." The sound of the pencil is very low, which makes me feel sorry.

Eraser is still listening silently.

"What does she want?" "She doesn't love me, yes, she doesn't love me. Otherwise, how could she be forcibly erased from my memory ... "The inexplicable movement of the pencil plunged me into doubt, fear and anxiety.

Don't! She loves me. Because she leaned against her small body and secretly told me that she loved me and that she would spend the rest of her life painting the most unreasonable clothes for me.

She didn't break her word. She loves me. Her life melted into that little floral shirt. Those petals are so affectionate that they float away with a little moisture. ...

"Stop it!" Before I could smell the floating flowers, the eraser began to erase those elegant little flowers.

"Stop it!" Looking at the ruined flowers, I can't be indifferent. I have been cursing, in fact, I can only scold. I like my blouse, it is mine, it is her "heart" left by the pencil, my memory.

"The meaning of my existence is for the perfection of pencils. If one day the pencil is gone, my life will become worthless. "

After listening to the rubber monologue, I began to be habitually silent again. With the disappearance of the last petal, the eraser also learned about his life experience.

I am still a blank sheet of paper and envy my white clothes. No one can see that there have been traces of love there. I am still a blank sheet of paper, waiting for the arrival of the next pair of pencils and erasers. ...

Perhaps this is love, and only love can make us willing to pay for each other, and only love can change the original indifferent heart. Pencils pay for white paper, erasers pay for pencils, and white paper changes its indifference to pencils ... who can judge which of their love is greater? It's just that pencils and erasers love more ... for love, everything is worth waiting for!