I was late, knocked on the door and went in. The teacher paused to tell me the story I missed.
When I entered, Lily was already in the hospital, dying of illness.
Another class in the middle urged the classroom. We changed the place. When we waited for the next classroom, the teacher asked me: Do you understand?
I'm afraid I will miss the plot and don't understand it.
I made it clear. Think about it and ask again: So finally, did her brother come back?
The teacher said, I won't tell you, you have to see for yourself.
Then I said: I chose this movie because it tells the story of an ordinary French family. You can see what the French think and how they deal with the relationships within the family.
When the final answer was revealed, I was probably too busy paying attention to what the French said, trying my best to keep up with the plot. I didn't expect it to be such an end.
Can't help crying.
Parental love sometimes seems a little stupid, so stupid that it feels futile. But they still persist in this kind of love in vain. There is no doubt that children will have that much needed stage. One day they will gradually not need it.
But the love of parents is like the light emitted by stars. Maybe we can't use so much, maybe we are already in the hemisphere of the night. But the star still burns itself persistently.
Even after they passed.
Just like when we look up at the starry sky and see an unusually bright star, when the light hits our eyes, maybe the star has already burned out, but its light spans hundreds of millions of light years in the universe and will last forever. The earth reflected, reflected in our hearts.
This light is the memory of the love of parents.
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