日子像日历一样一张张翻过,无论有多么不舍,还是被岁月无情地带走。记忆如春风发酵,迷醉万水千山;记忆如磁石定位,牵引万缕千丝。抚摸着已经褪色的钢笔,记忆的琴弦发出“通”的一声巨响,瞬间把我拉回已尘封多年的过去。每看到小花瓶里插着梅花,那浅红色的花朵似乎刺痛了我的眼睛,脑里浮起了一张带着失落表情的美丽的面庞,不由自主地想起曾经教室窗户上那枝早已凋谢的蜡梅花来。“余老师呀!这花已经凋谢了,您为什么还不把它扔掉 Days like a calendar like a turn over, no matter how dismay, or years of relentless away. Memory, such as the spring breeze, fascinated thousands of miles; memory, such as the magnet positioning, traction thousands of threads. Stroking the faded fountain pen, the strings of the memory send out a loud noise of ”ON“, instantly pulling me back to the dusty years. Every time I saw a plum blossom in a small vase, the pale red flower seemed to sting my eyes, and a beautiful face with a lonely face floated in my mind, involuntarily reminding me of the long-standing withering of the window in the classroom window The wax plum comes. ”Teacher Yu! This flower has faded, why do not you throw it away