Ask for limited word prose for middle school students, essays suitable for middle school students to

Memories like the wind.

I like Pu Shu's song, which started from the song "Birch Forest", which has a Russian flavor, a touch of sadness, pure and sincere feelings, all of which are heartwarming; And I like "Those Flowers" from watching the movie called "When the Flowers Bloom".

When youth slowly fades, we must also have chaotic but dazzling memories of those years that can never be recovered. Often in a split second, these memories come to me out of the depths of my mind. It's like the flowers that silently open in the corners and end up scattered at the end of the world in the lyrics.

Those friendships and loves that we thought would never change in our lives, and the friends and lovers who we thought would always be by our side, after experiencing the vicissitudes of the years, after leaving the familiar road of our hometown, we suddenly found that they have become memories that have been sealed in the bottom of our hearts for a long time. The original most brilliant colors slowly faded in my heart unconsciously, but when I passed through a certain street, I heard a familiar melody and suddenly flooded. And now, what about them?

They are fading in your life, but I believe that in their own lives, they will always be the brightest protagonists. Maybe that's enough.

Sometimes, I think it would be nice to be able to capture many of the short, sweet and heartbreaking scenes of the past with a camera, but when I get home and open my diary of the past, I find that the best way to clean up the past is to make it clean, at least better than to remember. Because the strangeness is so much the other feeling that there really is no going back. Accepting this can sometimes be really hard.

Life always goes according to the plan, and after a sad death, you still have to move on along the track of your life, and the friends and lovers who accompany you now may be blown away by the wind in a few years. Like the rails that once intersected but eventually separated, each moving along its own rails to an unknown distance. Occasionally, in a summer afternoon coffee or in the middle of the night empty streets, I suddenly remembered and gradually felt a little sad.

Write it yourself, no hands! Hehe.

Reading for middle school students.

A monthly magazine. Lots to read.

Yellow leaves fall in the autumn wind, that's not.

du is a meteor, I can't hold my mother's hand, black dao wheat ears, a version of the dime, I want to cook a meal for my mother, the past of the schoolbag, Dad's slippers are a boat, the child who chases the car, the truth is on the other side of what you don't know, ten years, no coincidence is not a book to carry the water, the warmth on the other side is my paradise, and every piece of land has a name.

Autumn is the best time to do it. Because it doesn't have the heat of summer; There is no freshness of spring; There is no winter cold. He is its ......One hundred and sixty words are omitted here.

Color, which is both a song to the stream and a song to my mother, because this stream once "left my childhood."

She remembered everything that happened in the ravine, remembered the "sorrow and joy of the mountain people", and sent the raised "me" out of the mountain. The stream is a song, the mother is a song, and the article itself is also a lyrical song of grievance.

O stream, my mother. Mother, like.

with this stream. Mother. , you watched me grow up and took care of me in every way.