Prose is a narrative literary genre that expresses the author's true feelings and flexible writing style. The following is the short prose 500 words I organized, welcome to read!
Short Prose Part 1Tonight the mood is very bad, what is the reason is not very clear. Maybe it's the fact that I asked a person in Erqiqiqiao and she didn't respond to me. But such a small reason can make me in a terrible mood, may not be justified. Perhaps this is my heart disease may be, because I am often by their own past to get lost in the soul. Whenever I remember my past, I feel terrible.
I was so pained by my past that I couldn't find a way to get out of it.
I wish I hadn't made a mistake! I'm not going to be able to do that, but I'm not going to be able to do that.
In this life, innocence has become impossible, and the stains are full of them, so how can I be good? I really pay a heavy price for their own stains, worry to. If everything is just a dream, after waking up do not have to palpitate, because believe that it is just a dream, that would be so good.
Today's life still have parents around, to give themselves a lot of comfort, the future, will not be a single miserable life? To date, there have been more than thirty years, his wife is not yet available, will not be alone in his life? I have a wife and can not give his wife and children a happy home?
I still don't want to think so much good, see a walk step, who can predict what kind of future encounters, life is full of many variables, I may not have to be so pessimistic.
Ask the happy and carefree you, how do you see this unfortunate people? I hope you give this painful and unfortunate people some sympathy, some care, he will be very grateful to you for his good.
May the good man have a peaceful and carefree life.
Short Prose Part 2It's been a long time since I left home.
Once again back to the hometown, back home, the heart seems to be more what, also seems to be less what.
Idle down, organize the book kitchen, in the deepest corner, suddenly found a small Cupid plaster statue.
The white little god of love has been covered with dust. Even the face, could not be seen.
It was a gift from a friend on my eighteenth birthday more than ten years ago.
A decade of years swiftly flowed past. The white but dusty little Eros is still smiling and standing quietly in the corner of the book kitchen.
The friend who gave me this little god of love is a girl. Now, she is the mother of a child. I think her lovely son is her own little god of love!
Looking at this dusty plaster statue, I suddenly thought of many ......
After sighing, I gently picked it up and gently brushed away the dust that fell on it. Little Cupid's smiling face reappeared.
Just as I was about to put it back in the book kitchen, I missed a beat and the statue fell to the ground. Broken.
I hastily crouched down, picked up the broken pieces of plaster, and tried to glue them back together, but, I knew that a broken plaster statue could no longer be complete. Even if, I glued the pieces, it would no longer be the same.
I will never be able to retrieve the gift the girl gave me on my eighteenth birthday.
Many times, what is lost can never be recovered.
I silently swept a white piece of debris into the garbage can, such as sweeping away a nostalgia, a past ......
Short Prose Part 3
Lonely, confused, stood in the spring breeze in March withered under the last remnants of the leaf. As if the lonely plum, flowers bloom in winter, fall silent warm spring ......
Winter sowing, rooted in the hunting cold wind, through a touch of red flowers to hold up the warm winter sun, reflecting the white snow, warm through the heart. Just can not withstand the blowing of the spring wind, messy scattered, and even too late to stay in the air, it did not enter the dust, into the memories.
I stood in the spring breeze in March, look at the buds of the willow branches, look at the green grass, look at the babbling brook, look at the north return of the swallow, but still see the heart of that a touch of red, vaguely piercing my heart.
A few more prosperous, a few more noisy, the warmth of the spring sun mixed with a faint shyness awakened the frozen world. I thought I could take away the dust in my heart and plant new flowers, but I didn't want to, my heart is old, tightly knotted with the fallen flowers, withered and decayed ......
Confused and stood in the familiar campus, but I saw an unfamiliar figure, or laughter, or worry, hurriedly walked by. Even you are gradually blurred, can only be in the heart of the countless times to think back, not forgetting to read, read the sinking carving. With the inaccessible hands heavy pressure on the chest, afraid of your departure, and want to bury you deep, buried in a corner I can never turn over, such as the falling flowers, slowly decay, fade ......
Lonely, confused, in the spring season of the blossoming flowers withered, fell all over the ground heartbreak, full of sadness. The messy thoughts of any breeze blowing randomly, roaming zero in the boundless sky, from the beginning of the lonely floating to the end of the lonely. Just always seems to be a traction line, and will bring me back to the location of the falling flowers, looking at the remnants of the shadow, the thought is ultimately stagnant, along the corners of the eyes, shed a faint tear.
Spring flowers, winter splendor is destined to be short-lived, a seat of the spring breeze gently caress and go, leaving only the remnants of the shadow, replaced by thoughts, did not enter my heart, built a cluster of plums, withered in the spring, eerily sad death ......
Short Prose Part 4My favorite people with the most brutal way to teach me not to easily believe in the future. Love, love turns out to be able to joke. The first time I saw this, I was so happy to see you, and I was so happy to see you.
All the heartfelt touched all lost to time, distance, hearts, reality, in fact, nothing will last forever. Forgiveness can be', but again trust is very difficult, because trust, like a blank sheet of paper, once wrinkled, even if we try to smooth, but also can not restore the original. We have to move forward. Can not turn back. Day cold, people cold, heart more cold. How many people are still in love but already separated, how many people are smiling but full of tear drops. When will this painful entanglement end?
If one day I really no longer care about how you and others, then we should really end. There is no sunshine today! The sky is also in sadness, whose love looks out alone? If I care about you turned out to be my fault, I would rather choose to miss.
For you, you can no longer do what you want, but can only be a modest greeting, care can not be too much, curious can not go to explore, jealousy can only be locked in the bottom of the heart. This torturous tangle, but you can not see, I shed tears does not mean that I lost, just the heart is dead, you bring me the joy of my life will remember. Just this knot of the heart, repeatedly entangled. I don't know where my heart has drifted to again, even if I look at myself, I can't see, I think I'm not just losing you so simple. Broken heart, painful heart, I forgot to care about your determination, for a once a heartbeat to hurt yourself several times, sincerely care about you but has been painful, let the wind take away the tears I have flowed, finally, let yourself let go of you, from now on I also lock the door of their own heart! I will not easily believe in anyone.
Short Prose Part 5Time has slowed down its pace, and its back has drifted away. With the corner of the folding of the dead leaves, onion oil green began to wither. I don't want to worry about the sighs of the sunset; I don't want to worry about the sadness of the loss, ignore the melancholy that permeates the darkness of the night, and the bright moonlight sprinkled with gentle ripples. I walk softly in time, afraid to wake you up, and then slipped away from my side, the trail is hard to find.
The city is lonely without you, and those once-passing stories have faded from memory. The city can not be seen outside the mottled windows, sitting at the top of the high-rise, the bottom of the eye has long been covered with haze. The things that appear and disappear keep repeating in the mind, torturing themselves over and over again. Is it close, or detached?
Street corner wind, who will stand in the wind and rain to protect you all around; the night comes, who will accompany you through the streets and alleys; high mountains and long water, who will be in the years for you to worry about ......
I hope that the sky is high and the moon is bright, you can not adore the return date, even though the sky is high and the water is far away, I read you everything is fine! The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new pair of shoes or boots.
In the days of light winds and light clouds, the soil exudes a dense breath. The roof was wet with rain, and the sound of insects was heard near the end of the night. That is the time piled up in the life of the grief, that is the thoughts hanging in the heart of the attachment, that is the moonlight calls the lover's horn.
Jade leaves delicate sobbing, the wind of the weak willow swaying in the wind. The surface of the lake is a circle of ripples, swept across the surface of the lake shadow disappeared into the misty bush. A year without the covetousness, the hustle and bustle of the city is full of lonesome eyes. When I was still lingering, the shadows under the moon had begun to dissipate.
Short Prose Part 6The youthful bravado in the face of today's decadence and confusion, just as I once fantasized about a lifetime but could not withstand the simple one year, what happened that year? That year, the sea changed; that year, the sea withered and rotted; that year, twenty years old. That year is the most important year for themselves, and what difference do we make.
We are like two little children, you cry for no reason, just want to eat candy. I'm not as good as a little kid, I didn't even know you wanted candy. We are also like an old couple, snuggling up to each other, and then cold days, but also arm in arm. Speaking of which, I have a secret I haven't told you yet. I have cold hands, and they get very cold when the weather gets cold. But how can I give you warmth with such hands? Fortunately, I have a solution. They say a child with cold hands is a heaven with broken wings in a previous life. I rather think you must have been an angel in your previous life, I chased after you in this life and I haven't caught up yet. The days are cold and the days are hot, we are still apart, but our hearts are still together. A year of 365 days and nights, is it still a year? Without thinking how can you make a sudden decision. Why are you blaming yourself? The one who needs to blame himself is me. I don't want to say any more vows, just want you to understand that maybe our whole life is in the next life. Why do you need to blame yourself in this life.
Maybe you did the right thing, right, we have a conflict of character, you like to move, I like quiet. But don't you think this is exactly the most needed family character. Yes, every time I think too much, why every thing that has to do with you to think too much, I just change a kind of you may not understand the way to love you. I was afraid of you getting hurt, but I hurt you anyway. You say it's no one's fault, after all, I still love you.