Lung: watched

Lung: watched

    

Article written by scholars to recommendWelcome to the United States with the text of it, published in mood sentiment, with 10 million U.S. culture right now share with friends! Click to joiHua, on the first day of school, he and I holding hands, through a good few blocks to Victoria Primary School. In early September, every household in the courtyard of the apple and pear trees are studded fist-sized fruit, because of weight-bearing and heavy drooping branches, beyond the hedge, hair, hook to the pedestrian crossing.

Many, many children in the playground waiting for the class first tone ring. Small hands, ring in the father, mother palm, Qieqie eyes, looked around . They are kindergarten students, but they did not know that a law: the graduation thing, another thing is always open.

Bell, suddenly silhouette mixed, betake different directions, but the shuttle so much chaos in the crowd, I very clearly see the back of their children ─ ─ like in a hundred babies cry rang while, you still able to accurately hear that one of their own position. Hua carrying a colorful bag move forward, but he kept back; like an endless time and space through the river, his eyes and my eyes staring Taking a rendezvous.

I looked at his thin back entrance and disappeared.

The age of sixteen, he went to the United States as an exchange student for one year. I send him to the airport. Farewell, as usual, embrace, my head can only be affixed to his chest, as if clinging to the giraffe's feet. He obviously struggled to put the mother's affection.

He ranks in the long wait for passport inspection; I stand outside the back of the eye to follow him moved forward inch by inch. Finally his turn, stay a while in the customs window, and then get back passports, popped into a door, prosperous and almost disappear.

I have been waiting, waiting glance back before he disappeared. But he did not, not once.

Now he is twenty, the university just to teach my university. But even go the same way, he would not take my car. Even with the car, he put on his headphones ─ ─ Only one person can listen to music, is a closed door. Sometimes he was waiting for the bus across the street, I look down from the high-rise window: a tall thin young man, eyes look to the gray sea; I can only imagine that his inner world and my deep, like the waves, but I can not get. While the bus came, stood in his presence. The car drove away, a deserted street, standing only a mailbox.