A composition related to love

That footprint, that feeling

Sitting in the examination room, casually looking out of the window, I saw water droplets still hanging on the plane leaves after the rain, twinkling. After the road leading to the school gate was infiltrated by the spring rain, clear footprints were left after being trampled.

Ah! Footprints! The strings of memory suddenly fluctuated, and in the dim light, I seemed to see a line of footprints left by my father under the street lamp in the vast snow. ...

It was two years ago, when I was just in junior high school. Because my mother died early and my father took care of our three children, the hardships at home can be imagined. However, my father is still ambitious and strongly supports me to go to the middle school in the district.

You need to bring your own food to school in a town ten miles away from home. Without my mother, my father does all the cooking. He always makes bread and delivers it every Sunday night, because he goes to work in the fields during the day.

One day, it snowed, and I looked at the white world, but my heart was very uneasy. Today is Sunday, which is the day when Dad delivers meals. Every Sunday, I look forward to my father's arrival. Even if he doesn't say anything, as long as we can sit quietly for a while and take a look at my aging father, I will feel warm in my heart. But today, when I think that Dad will trip in the snow, I hope he won't come today.

After the uneasy self-study, I was sandwiched between my classmates and walked to the dormitory. Just about to step into the dormitory, I was shocked. A thin old man curled up by the door, carrying a bulging bag. "Dad!" I rushed over screaming. The snow is still falling, and my father's coat is covered with snow under the eaves. I tried to hold back my tears and helped my father into the dormitory.

"Self-study?" My father's voice is flat but full of infinite love. "hmm." I should have replied. I feel this love, and I really want to cry for happiness.

I took my father's bread and asked him to rest in my bed for a while, but he stood still, took out some pocket money from his pocket and left in a hurry. My father is only in his forties, but the rod-shaped wrinkles on his forehead record all his hardships. His hair has turned gray, and every hair records his hardships and frustrations.

It seems that my father came when I just took the self-study class, and he stayed until I took the self-study class, for fear of affecting my study. He didn't wear much clothes. On a snowy night, he was cold and said to me, "Not cold."

My father just came back after a few steps. He told me that the dish he fried that night was in the top cake, which was my favorite scrambled eggs with tomatoes. Eat quickly, it may still be hot. Then, I left without looking back.

In the dim light, the snow is still dancing. I stared at the footprints that gradually extended into the distance in the snow. This footprint is branded on my heart rather than printed on the snow. This line of footprints is getting farther and farther. At the end of the footprints, my father's back is getting smaller and smaller. ...