Intermediate spring. Early morning.
The fresh and cool wind blows on the face, pushing open the window, and the outside world is very big: the apricot flowers after the rain are more charming, and the pink skirts are lifted one after another, dancing in the branches for a spring; Willow trees are wrapped in a layer of green leaves and whispering in the branches.
It's just that my mind is out of tune with all this.
Dictation, exams and monthly exams tortured me all over. At this moment, I really want to calm down and steal this rare morning.
There was a quiet click in my ear, as if something had fallen on the marble of the balcony. I glanced indifferently: it was a butterfly with broken wings, struggling desperately as if to take off again.
I can't believe it. I rubbed my eyes. Broken wings break my heart. What a big wound this is! In the blue sky lake water, only that place shone milky white, and the wound solidified into a beautiful arc on him.
It seems to be crawling and trying to flap its wings. A few drops of dew in mid-spring fell on it disobediently. I wonder if it is the legendary butterfly tears. Look, its wings are shaking, very weakly shaking. I seem to hear his cries and gasps and feel his longing for the blue sky of life. Finally, after several struggles, he gradually flew askew, but his flight was so short.
I can't bear to watch any more, and I can't help him. Giving him a space may be the best gift for him. I quietly moved my eyes and moved my steps.
In fact, when we fold our wings, we not only need a space to take off again, but also need the courage to take off! Growth has brought us suffering, and we must respond with a tearful smile.
Let this butterfly with broken wings fly stubbornly in the depths of my heart. Because, through his wound, I saw the still clouds and the shining sky.