The rain today is cloudy


The rain today is cloudy.Walking on the way to the classroom, holding the umbrella that does not belong to him.The edge of the umbrella was as low as it could be, and all I could see was today’s muddy rain and the wet floor.Today’s rain is turbid, today I am turbid.One foot at a time, each step on the cotton, muddy as snow, and the sound of the fabric being squeezed and rubbed.Pick up the pen, can’t see the writing.When I opened the book, I realized I didn’t have a book with me.On the platform, the teacher is talking about the middle school text professor case, under the platform, everyone placed in front of a version of the seventh grade Chinese textbooks.I could not read the text clearly, nor could I hear the students whispering below.Out of the window were fields, and dark green hills, and the lingering air, the gray mist that had soaked the world.Inside the window was the classroom, with the sound of the teacher asking questions, the sound of desultorily turning over books and the chafing of chairs against the floor.I am not a mountain, not farmland, the voice of questions far away from me, the sound of pages turning is also very loud.What am I?I’m cloudy.What happened last night, I still can’t get over it, everything seems unreal in a dream.When you open your hands, you feel what you touched last night, soft, or delicious.Gently a grip, turned into muddy rain, see is not very real.Nostalgia?Goodbye so awkward.Pingshui edge, also right when muddy rain, aftertaste but can not touch.

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