~Tritt herein~ » found that his father was o

In memory Newport Cigarettes Coupons, he always likes to lightly touch the tip of my nose with the hand that emits jasmine after washing the clothes. The faint fragrance, the warmth of love, has been haunting me. The scene of going to school. When my mother was busy in elementary school Marlboro Red, the task of picking up and going to school was dropped into my father's hands. It was a hot summer day, and the father was still using his ordinary bicycle to carry me to the school. I was sitting on the back seat of the bicycle, holding the seat tightly in one hand and holding the ice cream in the other Newport 100S. The legs continued to sway, his father's hair was messy in the air, and the burning sun bakes his father's back and sprinkles the shadow on me. Gradually, the speed of the car is getting slower and slower. I just want to remind my father, but I feel the back of my hand is wet. The sweat slides down my father's hair and drops into my hand. I swallowed the words I want to say. I turned my head and looked at my father. He was not as powerful as usual. He grasped the handlebars with both hands tightly. The blue veins on his back were exposed and the body bent forward. At this moment, it was not riding a bicycle, but pulling a river. Every time he squatted, he took a deep breath, and the huge sweat ticking, shining through the crystal, fell on the big hot land. He clenched his teeth and rode through the uphill road. The white shirt clung to his back, sweat drenched him, and blurred my vision. When I got out of the car, I didn't run to the school as usual. Instead, I gently said to my father, "I am leaving." The father smiled and stood up with sweat and put a pair of hands on his ear and waved at me: "Go. Let's not play!" After that, one hand wiped off the shore, took the sweat, and then swayed and got on the bus, disappearing into the chaotic streets. Later, I learned that the father who sent me to school had a bad cold. In the meantime, I saw the way my father gave me when I was sent to me. The back of the sweat was once again coming out. His love turned into sweat and slowly nourished my heart. Regret did not say to him at that time: "Dad, I love you!" After several baptisms, the annual ring finally opened the petals of the father's eyes, and found that his father was old, forty years of ups and downs. Time climbed the blue silk, leaving traces of the years, smashing the back of his father, infecting the world of love, the night sky, the deep blue sky, I leaned against the window and looked at the stars, but behind it was the pots and pans The sound of "squeaking" and the familiar voice, I know, my father is busy in the kitchen. Warmth is a little bit swaying in my heart, the faint love, the thick love, is quietly nourishing my heart.
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