It's raining in the old house. The old house is silent in the rain. It has no momentum of modern high-rise buildings, no luxury of villas, and only has its simple color. The rain water flows down the cracks of the tile and falls under the eaves, splashing the memory of the whole place. Its walls are no longer snow-white, but now they are dark yellow and colorless. When the rain falls on it, it doesn't cross the wall of the old house, but the face eroded by the years. But what about that! The old house still has a beating heart. The walls are full of scars and sweet. The children living in the old house are always naughty. They like to jump up and down and make havoc. They will use their dirty little hands to print on the wall, or when adults are not paying attention, they will use yellow mud blocks to scribble... Those memories are like graffiti on the wall, buried in the heart of the old house. Immersed in the memory of rainy days, people can't help themselves. The old house and those of us in memory.
Tearful eyes dim at the beginning, we were still young and frivolous, attracted by each other, and drunk for a season. Where are you now, I can only hide in the lonely side, the original smiling face is like a flower, and now I am sad and lovesick. Looking at the old photos, I was naive at that time, but now I am very sad. Time has taken everything away, but it can't take away my missing for you. I changed from green to mature alone, but I can't bring you around. Look at my lonely eyes, just for missing you.