That year, I still had her,
that year we were still innocent like a piece of crystal,
that year we didn't understand what marriage meant,
that year we still didn't know what responsibility meant,
that year we still couldn't lie,
that year our laughter was still so pure,
that year we thought happiness was always within reach, just a stretch of the hand away,
that year your tomato scrambled eggs forgot the salt but had too much soy sauce,
that year you were nervous when I hysterically cried in the rain,
that year your hand was in mine all year round,
that year you cried saying you wanted to be my woman,
that year we lit all the candles to celebrate your birthday,
that year on the bus I kicked down a thief, you said I was so handsome, so heroic,
that year I waited for you to come home all night, only to find you drunk and confessing,
that year you held my arm like a happy little wife,
that year you had a fever and I carried you to the hospital, you drowsily said to me, 'Never leave me your whole life, you must cherish me well, because I love you,'
that year I never got drunk, never touched cigarettes,
that year you laughed at the vermilion mole on my forehead saying, 'My husband is Erlang Shen,'
that year you told me only you were worthy of being my woman, because only your eyelashes were more beautiful than mine, and if other women married me, they would feel inferior.That year you said that only me playing the guitar was your favorite.
Those years, those six or seven years, I learned to smile. You were the first girl to say my smile was beautiful, and that my two little rabbit teeth were cute.
Six or seven years later, the emotions that had disappeared from my smile could never be brought back.
Six or seven years later, I realized that marriage is such a complex and demanding matter.
Six or seven years later, I understood the heavy burden of responsibility.
Six or seven years later, I fell in love with tomato scrambled eggs with soy sauce.
Six or seven years later, I learned not to be honest.
Six or seven years later, my smile no longer had the cute little rabbit teeth, nor did it have you.
Six or seven years later, I can no longer meet a girl who would stand in the rain crying and shouting for me.
Six or seven years later, what I hold in my hands is only air, no longer your hand.
Six or seven years later, I would no longer refuse a woman who wants to give me her body.
Six or seven years later, I cannot find those beautiful colored candles, and you have forever lost your birthday.
Six or seven years later, I will no longer meddle, because you will no longer say things like 'My husband is so handsome, so heroic, so domineering' to me.
Six or seven years later, I still cannot stop you from drinking alone, nor is there a girl who confesses to me after drinking.
Six or seven years later, walking on the street, you are no longer beside me.
Six or seven years later, you no longer need to go to the hospital, and even if you do, you won't need me to carry you.
Six or seven years later, smoking and drinking have become routine because I am looking for traces of you.
Six or seven years later, the cinnabar mole on my forehead has faded, and few people can see it now.
Six or seven years later, I have been with various women, but they did not feel inferior because of my long eyelashes; it's just that I miss you.
Six or seven years later, only when I am alone do I pick up the guitar and slowly sing our songs.
Every evening at dusk, I feel unhappy.
I know the night is coming.
I don't want to spend the darkness alone.
I want to forget our past,
but I cannot bear to let go of the memories.
I am always like this.
Don't be afraid in heaven,
you will watch over me,
I know,
you cannot let go of me,
I understand.
