Xu Maolin's father left home when he was seven or eight years old and never came back. His face became increasingly blurry in his memory as time went by. But he always remembers what he said to him when he was a child, sitting on his lap, a pair of big, generous hands gently stroking his hair, and a hoarse but warm voice saying to him——
There are always some people, things, scenery, and moods in this world. We don't feel anything at the moment, but they have been imprinted in our minds since then, and they can't go away. They then grow in your heart, they become you, and you become them.
When I was a child, I didn't understand it, but this sentence has always remained in Maolin's memory. When I suddenly think of it many times later, I can only sigh.
Countless times in life, when I close my eyes, images of my youth appear. In the cold and bitter winter of the South, there is not a single cloud in the sky. It is so pale that it dazzles the eyes, hanging overhead like a stage set in a daze. Tall trees came together at the top, cutting the scene into fragments. He lay on the forest floor, smelling the fresh, loose earth.
After all, he could never forget those young people who spent countless summers doing nothing.