我多么希望我没有打开那个破旧的松木箱子啊!因为在它的里面,有一个外面包着一层棉布的小盒子,这个盒子对我来说简直是太熟悉了,盒子的上面用铅笔写着“采用信”。如今,盒子上依旧残留着妈妈平素最喜欢佩戴的玫瑰的芳香,那香味虽然已经很淡了,但是却仍旧那么清新,那么怡人。我凝视着这个盛放着妈妈作品的盒子,那如烟的往事犹如潮水一般汹涌而来,无尽的悲伤则像浓雾一样弥漫了我整个身心。妈妈要成为一位作家的美好梦想最终也没有能够变成现实。 How I wish I did not open that old pine box! Because in it, there is a small box covered with a layer of cotton cloth outside, the box is almost too familiar to me, and the box is written with a pencil “Adopt letter”. Today, the box still retains the aroma of the roses most worn by mums, which, although very light, is still fresh and pleasant. I stared at the box containing my mother’s works. The smoke of the past was like a tide of water. The endless grief filled me with my heart and soul. The ultimate dream of a mother to become a writer ultimately failed to materialize.