When I was seventeen, I did two of the most outrageous things.
The first thing was to change the "Northern Dance" specified by my mother on the application form to "Central American Dance".
The second thing is that I fell in love with dyeing.
She is an all-powerful MVP on the basketball court, and a "problem student" who is always at the bottom of the achievement list. We are two parallel lines that should not intersect.
Until that night, she knocked away my fear with a basketball in a deep alley.
She said: "Good student, stay away from me."
But I still walked towards her.
I taught her to break down complex force analysis, and she taught me "You don't have to be perfect when playing, just be yourself."
My sketchbook is filled with drawings of her tense Achilles tendons when taking off; her collection of wrong questions is filled with my marked problem-solving ideas.
Abandoned glades are our secret bases, and sunrises over coastal towns are our stolen vows.
On the day when the results of the second model came out, she rushed into the playground and found me, her eyes bright astonishingly: "197th place! Yaoyao, I got in! The coach said there is hope!"
That morning, the sea breeze was wet and salty, and the morning glow was endless. We wore wedding dresses and kissed on a deserted rock.
"When I'm admitted to college," she pressed my forehead, "we'll have to visit many, many times."
We thought we had really touched the edge of light.
However, when the secretly taken photos become evidence in court, the worlds of the two families collapse at the same time.
My mother tore up my sketchbook: "If you ever interact with her again, don't call me mom!"
Her father found the school: "Playing ball? Fooling around with girls? The books have been read into the dog's belly!"
The road to special basketball recruiting was abruptly cut off, and the results that had just improved were reduced to worthless. We ran hard towards the light and were about to catch up with it, but the light went out. On the bus on the last return trip, we faced inevitable destruction.
She used her last strength to protect me tightly.
When the red light in the emergency room went out, the "promising" college information I had just organized for her lost its owner forever.
Why does fate treat us this way? Are we not trying hard enough? Why?
Later, I received the admission notice from Beijing Dance University.
I took my wedding dress, which had been wetted by the sea water, to the dark blue again.
□□ Ran, look.
The sea is still there and the sunrise is still brilliant.
The future you almost won, and the person you promised to watch the sunrise with many times, will never come again.
Intention: When the world does not tolerate it, with life as evidence, love will become an eternal mark that transcends life and death.