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我的“六·一”节与我的蝴蝶结一起,早被一季又一季的风吹散,吹远了,但没有消失。以后每到这个节日,面对一群群孩子,面对一张张灿灿烂烂的笑貌,总会情不自禁地用眼睛从中寻找过去的自己,寻找那段得而复失的岁月。但不能听那唱了一代又一代的《让我们荡起双桨》、《听妈妈讲那过去的事情》,听了直想流泪,但不哭,于是便使劲睁大眼睛。盯住一朵朵云,用它当手帕,匆匆离开这个节日。如今牵着儿子的小手,每年又朝这个节日走去,总是替他买最新的玩具,总是带他逛最大的游乐场,好象是为了重新获得那份被割舍的至爱,总是尽力地使这一天在365天中
My “June 1” festival, along with my bow, has long been blown away by the winds of season after season but has not disappeared. After each holiday to come, in the face of a group of children, the face of a brilliant smile, always can not help but with the eyes looking for the past, looking for the lost period. But you can not listen to that generation after generation of “let’s swing up sculls”, “listen to my mom about what happened in the past” and listened straight to tears, but do not cry, so hard eyes wide open. Stare at a blossoming cloud, use it as a handkerchief, hurry to leave this festival. Now holding his son’s hand, and walked toward this festival every year, always buy the latest toys for him, always take him to visit the largest playground, as if to regain the share of loved ones, always Trying to make this day 365 days