Yinchuan in Memory Composition

Whether in study, work or life, many people have had the experience of writing compositions, and they are all familiar with compositions. Composition is a verbal activity that is highly comprehensive and creative. There are many things to note when writing an essay. Are you sure you know how to write it? The following is the Yinchuan composition in my memory that I compiled. I hope it will be helpful to everyone.

I have been to Yinchuan, or to be precise, I passed by. On a green train bound for Inner Mongolia, an eighteen-year-old boy sat in a window seat. He looked at the shadow of Yinchuan through the rain-stained window, pretending to be worried. . If anyone sees it from the window, yes, that boy is me.

I am not familiar with Yinchuan. I only remember that there are rows of rotating windmills and the vast desert. The windmills are leisurely and the desert is eternal, but I don’t understand. The dull sound of the train echoed in my ears, and the bustling crowd in the carriage gave off the unique style of the green leather car. Fortunately, I sat on the window seat, dragging my chin with my hands and looking out the window, feeling a sense of peace in my heart. The heart of an eighteen-year-old is like a wild horse, and the scenery on the journey is just scenery. I like the rotating windmill and the beautiful shadow of the desert glow. The rolling wheels carry tired travelers and move forward at lightning speed. As far as the eye can see is the setting sun that cannot be supported by the mountains, and below the head is the time of the travelers. I never deliberately wrote down the scenery, nor did I feel deeply attached to it. The journey was just a journey, and when I recalled it a few years later, I searched for the shadows that had appeared in the film in my mind.

I saw Yinchuan in other people’s photos and thought of Yinchuan. I couldn't figure out whether the windmills and deserts of Yinchuan were too deeply imprinted in my heart or whether I was particularly concerned about the photos. I thought of it, a place that has nothing to do with me. Although sometimes simply thinking about it may have nothing to do with anything, there is often a clue that triggers a memory.

Yinchuan, I have never even touched it. Who is that windmill turning for? That desert, for whom does it change? Who are the wheels rushing by? I looked at the scenery in other people's photos and thought that I had passed by there before, but what the photos retained was something I had never felt before. Just like the most beautiful fairy tale is nothing more than the days of living together with rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar and tea, which can be clearly seen but will last forever. Can't even taste it.

I like to occasionally flip through the photo album and look at the photos, and gradually I find that there is always someone who can make me smile even though they are not around. This smile gradually became a habit, and it seemed that the words that were not spoken in time became an unknown secret. It was also this kind of smile that gradually made me understand that I shouldn’t promise others anything. When that day comes, it feels like a lifetime ago and I don’t have to remember who made the promise. Even if you engrave it on your heart, others may not be the same as you. Stay with me until you grow old. At the same time, I gradually understood that the beauty of anything is not the appearance or appearance, but all the past experiences that have left scars and faded away, making it strong and peaceful. Therefore, a person's elegance is not a result of training, but a kind of experience. Indifference is not a disguise, but a kind of precipitation. In a sense, a person will never grow old, only his appearance will age. Time will make a soul become more and more moving, and years will make a relationship become stronger and stronger. Failure is not because of mistakes, but because the experience is not enough.

There was a time when I had so many unscrupulous youth years. When I was eighteen, I never even thought about what I would look like when I was twenty. I count my laughter every day, but gradually my laughter turns into an inexplicable loneliness. When I look back suddenly, I find that I am already sad in my heart. I think of the windmills and the desert in Yinchuan. The scenery I have been to has been printed in other people's photos, or the scenery I have been to is reflected in the photos of others reminiscing about their happiness. The scenery is not waiting for me, and the flowers are not blooming for me. The image that is imprinted in my mind is the warmth that others have imprinted on their photos. I think about a period of rustling years, with photos of Yinchuan printed in my eyes.

If I could, I would like to turn myself into a windmill in Yinchuan, not impatient or impatient, just turning leisurely on the edge of the desert, not too lonely, not too tired of the desolation of the years and the beauty of the autumn night. Silence, just transfer it to yourself...