To have a junior high school level essay on the topic of calendar, not a perfect score of 60

The memory of the calendar The sigh of man.

The white calendar is nailed to the wall, quietly, like a marginal person. All the experiences that flowed through his eyes precipitated until his memory was blurred.

I still remember the old-fashioned calendar nailed to the mottled walls of my grandmother's house, half the size of a textbook, but very thick, counting the three hundred and sixty-six pages of the cover; The paper is light and thin, but it is a little heavy to handle. My grandmother always circled the calendar with a red pen, father's birthday, uncle's birthday, ......My birthday. Or one morning, take a tape measure, let me lean against the wall to measure my height, and then stroke my fluffy potato hair, "Nan Nan has grown taller again."

Those words are always accompanied by pampering and gratification. That calendar records the bits and pieces of my grandmother's children and grandchildren, and also records my grandmother's silent love and envy for me.

I also remember that my young self once believed that the calendar had magical powers, and every time I tore off a page, time would disappear for a day. I was desperate to grow up, and I secretly took down the calendar and kept tearing page after page from page to page. After tearing this book, I'll grow up.

Childish and grotesque thoughts and the crisp sound of paper breaking ripple in the memory, but they leave irresponsibly, reaching out to reach out to reach only to realize that the memory and reality have been blurred.

Turning around slowly, there was a calendar hanging by the window, white paper, delicate pictures, but it left a blank space and let the memories fall in the corner. In a hurry, in a hurry, numbly letting the constraints of time run back and forth, for something cold to make their hearts cold, who will gently record warmth and protection at the edge of the numbers?

The wind blows, setting off the past that can be changed by endless missed shots, and the hazy face of tomorrow looms under the paper.

Stubborn and willful complaining can only linger at the point of origin, allowing others to tear my calendar into the past like a broken white butterfly. The sun shines through the pupils to the soul, and even though some have passed away, the page of today has not yet been turned, and the page of tomorrow is still waiting. I suddenly remembered the boy named Ziyou, the shadow of leukemia could not hide the brilliance of sixteen-year-old youth, every day with poems to record happiness and strength, full of enthusiasm to turn over the calendar of every today, looking forward to every tomorrow.

When the memory of the calendar is no longer clear, it will only leave people sighing. But if you put the details of life in your heart, even if the memory has been yellowed, you still smile like a warm spring breeze.

That calendar is life.

You can write one about valuing your time.

In fact, the days are like the calendar in front of you, and it's quick to turn it off. It's just that unlike time, the calendar can be flipped through to see what you did yesterday and think about what you did today. The past is determined and cannot be changed, and the future is still unknown.

And the real time cannot be turned back, it can only rely on the link of memories.

Every time we turn a page of the calendar, it is like subtracting a moment in our lives, which looks casual, but it is like a drop of red blood dripping from our wrist-slitting hand. Some people also say: We don't turn over the calendar, and the days are still like white horses flowing through the long river of life.

But I don't think it's the same as not turning the calendar. If we don't have the habit of flipping through the calendar, then we will be more casual and less rational. It is possible to spend every day without thinking or imagining.

And now, we're flipping through the desk calendar. Especially every time we lift the title page of the New Year's calendar, we sigh at the heaviness of the calendar. It took 365 long days and nights to finish it day by day.

But in fact, every time we lift the last page of the calendar, we feel as if our index finger that had been stained with saliva when we first lifted the page on New Year's Day has not yet dried. When I lifted the first page of the calendar, it felt like it was yesterday. It is so clearly presented in our minds that we unconsciously sigh that the sun and the moon are like a shuttle.

The naïve Duan Nucleus of the past, the youthful madness, and the scolding of Fang Xuan have all left us. What remains is the vicissitudes of time carving.

Some people may be happy, but most people are unhappy. So there are different interpretations and feelings of the day. The 19th day of '09 has gone away, and the dawn of the 20th day has been conceived under the dark sky in the east.

It's less than 365 days since New Year's Day in 2010.