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Packing up the old

    • 23 posts
    July 31, 2019 1:12 AM PDT

    Packing up the old things and accidentally discovering the yellowed photos placed at the bottom of the box, which is the glimpse of the parents when they were young. The thin body frame supported the fat sweater or suit, the thick black scorpion and the popular distribution in the era, some stupid. There is no sly movement, and the smile is full of youthful taste. Looking back now at the parents who are doing housework, the years are not forgiving, the wrinkles climbed on their cheeks, the timing dyed their eyes, and the body was not as good as before. Mother sometimes complains about herself: When does the corner of the eye have a layer of fishtail? I feel dull in the chest for no reason. At this time, I will always feel a little distressed and stunned Wholesale Cigarettes. I don��t know how to comfort her. I just look at her back in silence, looking forward to independence, filial piety. When they were young, they were very grinding. The age of sensible is still crying and self-willed, and it really exhausts the efforts and energy of the parents. My father��s hepatitis also fell from the root of the disease because of me. He never mentioned it before me. The mother occasionally spit out when I disobeyed her. The speaker said that it was unintentional and the listener was interested. At this time, I would always rise inexplicably. A sense of guilt. From a young age, I was a little talented by some performers. I spent the whole day wearing flowers and swaying around. My friends and relatives sang and sang one, and I danced and danced, and I still enjoyed my mother��s ignorance. Simply cut me a hole in the box, which made me afraid to go out for months. At home, she was awkward and lonely. She bought me a copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales. I loved it and since then I have had an indissoluble bond with the book. At this point, I still thank my mother and father for being a poor person Newport Cigarettes Coupons. His love is not calm but heavier. When I was a sophomore, I got a paronychia. After I had finished the operation, I couldn't walk down. He insisted on carrying me. I was a little embarrassed, but I couldn't help him. I am kneeling on his warm, solid back, and tears are already spinning around. I don't easily shed tears in front of him. He won't sympathize with me. Instead, he will stare at me with disdainful eyes and feel ashamed. It is he who taught me to be strong. Gradually, the love they poured into us is that no word can be modified, and no language can be defined. They are the sustenance of our hearts, the patron saint of life, the naughtyness of our childhood, the growth of the dots, the inherent weaknesses, or the talents of ordinary people, are stored in their quiet eyes. It is them that have witnessed the trajectory of our lives. Nowadays, they are getting older, and we will eventually leave their shelter and fly high. Those warm loves are worth savoring. For example, a cup of milk tea is the warmth of the palm of your hand. It is the mourning of our life. One of the photos is a photo of my childhood playmate. Her black and shiny horsetail, my short yellow hair, looks like a golden boy, so people can't help but laugh. When we were youn
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