The pedestrians and pedestrians began to take a long way off, and they thought that there would be a new bridge in the near future.
they found that the man who had made up his mind to demolish the bridge had no intention of building a new bridge here.
The river used to be a nocturnal song that was ripe for the heart. It played the day of going to the end of my life when I was an adult. When faced with the monotonous concrete and glass towers of the paths in the city, the music becomes more intense, reaching deep into the heart and awakening memories of the past.
But where is the river now?
With the rapid pace of modern times, the river has become mottled in the corner between the bright and the dark, and nobody cares. Carried home heavy and vast, experiencing the reality of wandering around, suddenly found a long stream of water, flowers on both sides, these have become the epitome of the times.
Standing by the river, the river is silent. When I think of the ten mile long dyke, I was alone. The lonely figure is as sad as late autumn.
In my memory, the River belongs to our generation. Today, it quietly hides. Or drowned by the sea of time, or frozen by years. No one of us can find it.
Smoke cleared, how to swim? I tried my best, screaming loudly, hoping that the distant river could hear the cry.