A Love Letter

It was very young, as small as when I was still writing with a pencil. At that time, there was a boy who secretly fell in love with a girl, and liked her for a long, long time, so long that I forgot why I liked her. And that girl was also his tablemate.

One day the boy's brother told the boy that he also had a crush on the girl and wanted to ask the boy to write a love letter for him, and the boy agreed. So he thought, thought, and wrote everything he wanted to say, and after writing it, the boy began to be afraid, afraid that the girl would like someone else after reading the letter, but he couldn't bear to bury the words in his heart, so the boy secretly put the name of his brother on the letter and put it in the girl's table.

Finally, on a lazy afternoon, the girl found the pink envelope and opened it, and the boy's eyes widened, staring intently at everything, watching the girl's every movement, every look, and even every breath, and the reddened little face was too hot to think about the meaning of all this. Until the girl folded the letter and put it back on the table, the boy felt as if time had stood still, she was going to speak, she was going to speak, what would she say to me, did she see that I had written it?.......... As a result, everything was as if nothing had happened, everything was so quiet, why didn't she speak, even if it gave me a smile or a melancholy, or a look at me! At this time, the afternoon sun shone on the girl's face, dyed her hair yellow, and her eyes shone with a bright shine as if a golden flower was blooming, and the boy was stunned, everything was so beautiful and so quiet. In that case, so be it, the boy thought.

When the girl left, the boy picked up the envelope and found two more words on the back: Stupid!

Are pomegranates delicious? 》

This is a small remote village, with a shallow river, and there is a small old house by the river, how old the old house is, my grandfather said, just look at the pomegranate tree in front of the door. At that time, I poked my head to look at the tall pomegranate tree, and felt that this old house must be older than my grandfather.

In this way, every day my grandfather hugged me and sat on the rocking chair, and I casually read: The old house, the old house shakes and shakes, and a gust of wind blows away. As a result, one summer, the old house had not fallen, but the owner of the old house had left forever. Leaving only a 9-year-old granddaughter, many people in the village came to mourn the owner of the old house, and the girl also cried from day to night, and then from night to day, until the tears dried up, she stopped talking, and sat alone under the old pomegranate tree without saying a word. Then a boy walked up to her and sat down quietly, and the girl thought that he would only say comforting words like the mourners. But after a long time, the boy didn't say anything, so he quietly accompanied her under an old pomegranate tree, and after a long time, the boy suddenly pointed to the pomegranate tree and asked, "Are the pomegranates delicious?"

"Are pomegranates delicious?" Many years later, when I returned here again and repeated the question and answer of the year, an old farmer was surprised: there are no trees, where are the pomegranates? And I scoffed on the sidelines.

"Are pomegranates delicious?" I've almost forgotten that I said that.