Fireworks Alley

Adults say it's better to be sensible. So that year, after a few phone calls and a few warnings, the two children obediently returned to their respective rainy seasons and did not contact each other again. She went to the ordinary class, thinking that she would no longer be dazzling; he stayed in the original light, thinking that she would eventually get bored. The corridors were crossed, the report cards were changed, and even the chance encounters were out of sight. See you again. He was still the number one in the grade who was watched by many people, but she was used to suppressing her emotions in a pure smile. We were in the same school and class, but no one took off the window paper pretending to be unfamiliar. But the love in my heart can never be faked: I am constantly judging myself in my heart, feeling that I have delayed the other person, and I am sure that the other person must also hate me; it is the habit of picking out the other person's back in a crowd, and then looking away again; it is the nameless sourness that I swallow back from a distance when the other person is talking to others; it is the fact that I am sincerely happy for the other person when I see that the other person is doing well, but there is an unspeakable grievance underneath that smile. There is actually no romantic rhetoric about the truth of reunion - it just needs someone to admit it first: "On the first day of our reunion, all I could think about was - how can I not lose you." Their past relationship was like an unfinished firework - it was short-lived, lit up, and then extinguished by an adult's words; the subsequent three years of separation and the tug after reunion were like walking on an alley - narrow, damp, tortuous, and no one dared to speak first for fear of breaking their dignity. Although the fireworks are short and the streets are deep, this time, we will not be separated again.