Speaking of which, even then, many years have passed. When she graduated, she drew a picture for me by herself. In the picture, there was a girl in a red dress with an inviting gesture. Next to it was a line of words: "Please write to me." I remember deeply. When she handed this letter to me, she was not wearing a skirt, but her shy face was red.
No matter how I promised her, in short, I did not write to her, not once. After graduation, I moved away from home to study, and I lost contact with her ever since. For many years to come, whenever I passed downstairs of her house, I would stop and look up at the window, silently for a few seconds. Although the building will grow old, it must be slower than the speed of a person's growth, so it is probably my illusion - in the long-term staring, the window on the sixth floor shows mottled colors.
I don't know if she still lives there, or if she's still waiting for me... All this doesn't seem to matter, after all, it's not difficult to find out, just go up and knock on the door, but I never Did that. I'm not lacking in something called "courage," and I'm not feeling guilty, I just don't know, knocking on the door or not knocking on the door makes a difference.
When I was young, I always had the idea of "wait until I have the power to protect her", and I always felt that I couldn't decide anything at the time, so I waved my hands at the crossroads, and didn't even want to look back. head. Later, when I grew up, I laughed at such thoughts, but the truth of growth is that while you are laughing, you know very well that if you go back to that time, I am afraid that the result will still be the same.
So miss it. Or, it doesn't matter if you miss it, just like any school transfer and move, it's just a different place to live. I have no special nostalgia, and I have no intention of returning to the beginning, but I have kept such a habit for many years. Maybe, I just don't want to, such a thing, such a person, in the end, there is no trace in my life. .
I used to like her, pretending to be old-fashioned in front of her, but my eyes were a little dodgy. Going home together after school, she often walked along the narrow curb with her hands slightly open. My hands were in my pockets, and every time she shook, I instinctively raised my hand to help her, but she was so well balanced that she never gave me a chance. Occasionally she stopped and pointed to the rain clouds hanging down from the sky, so I looked up to see - such a picture, along with many other pictures, remained in my heart after growing up for a long time.
It is a corner that has never been open to anyone, not because it is particularly important, nor because I can't find anyone to talk to, but - I have grown fast enough, good enough, and for those things in the past, I have I don't think there is any need to go back. If she had said to me at the moment when the car door was closed, "Your future will be very good", then, at this moment, I have already done it, although it is not with her, although she may not see it.
Later, when I moved out, there was no way to keep that ritualistic habit. The last time I passed by, I stood for a while longer than before. There were no cherry blossoms dancing in front of me, but the sound of the train moving across my ears.
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