Winter prose

In fact, I like winter very much. Even though I am cold and warm, I can't stand the cold and freezing. I still like winter.

Because, in that cold winter, at the foot of the deep Nanshan Mountain, you and I stood in the starry wilderness, facing the long river wrinkled by the cold wind and looking up at the stars together.

You peel oranges, I eat, I peel oranges, you eat. Even if the weather is so cold that your hands are bare, you will get frostbite. You are still very happy to help me peel oranges, remove white veins and put them in my mouth.

We walked side by side, neither knowing where we were going nor forgetting where we came from. In the cold winter wind, at the bottom of the starry sky, we lost our way, but we are still talking about our dreams for the future.

The night is deep, but there are two happy eyes, bright and bright, young heart and youthful blood. They are ignorant and fearless. They said that in the dark forest, starlight finally leaked out that night. We have gone astray, can we still remember the starlight that night? I remember that starry road, sparkling waves, there should be ice tomorrow, and you and I both long for it, that is, forever, that is, never give up.

Life, at that night, like stars, you and I go to the unknown forest!

Riding a bicycle, you and I, picking up junk in the cold wind, maybe a piece of iron, maybe a piece of wood, you always enjoy it. On the way home, you said you would use it as a chicken coop, a rabbit or a small bench.

The river bank extends into the night sky. Forest, on the barren road with no lights in front and no people behind, you smile, the stars are overhead, so a few cold lights.

I always believe that it is the lamp of life. Life never leaves that night, even if it is death, it will wait there, waiting for you to come back and tell a story with a smile in the middle of the night.

Winter frost on a cold morning, the mountains are covered with snow-white frost.

I look at you, riding a bike, going to work in the factory, and my hands are bloody with cold.

On a snowy night, you held me, your hands trembled because of the alternation of cold and hot, and I listened to your breath, and my tears flowed out drop by drop.

Then I woke up several nights to help you tuck in. If you are not cold, I am warm.

I always feel that in the cold winter, the snow is endless and life is frozen. Your warm smile, your hand touching the tears in my eyes, and riding a bike in the morning to buy a bowl of tofu brain and two fried dough sticks are all with me.

Finally, you are all gone, in the spring season, in the distant clouds.

I long to be buried to find the breath you gave me that night. If life depends on each other, life and death may be better.

What I fear most is not the cold winter of the season, but the snow in my heart.

May there be dreams tonight, good dreams, and your tenderness in winter.

If spring comes again and you slowly disappear on the road, then I think such spring is really cruel. Why always give us beautiful scenery as beautiful as flowers and pure as jade, but want us to lose dependence? I would rather live in the cold winter forever, be tortured by frostbite forever, wake up in the middle of the night forever, wrap up in a thick robe, and then watch you laugh like a bear.

There are only memories left tonight. Nostalgia is over, looking forward to the cold winter.