The most romantic thing I can think of is standing by Yunying Lake, watching the sun about to set -- Preface
Yes, no one can stop the beauty of the sunset, not even the clouds.
Walking across Yunying Bridge, I accidentally saw the shimmering lake surface. The sunlight, not dazzling, reflected on the water, moving along with the waves. The patches of gold flickered on the surface, so beautiful. I looked at the sun in profile, as if a child were looking at a loving mother, feeling nothing but warmth.
Indeed, mothers are always so kind and gentle, even with their wrinkles.
Time flies, life passes swiftly. Life will change our appearances; those things we once thought would never change have already changed, and we've even become the people we once despised. Yet we still have to learn to face reality, even if you and I remain in dreams. Perhaps we indulge in dreams and reckless living in our dreamy youth, yet we can never resist the lure of money, nor can we resist life's expectations and twists.
Sigh, sigh. Sigh! When will we march resolutely across the domain of life, and when will we pluck a camellia on the cliff?
Life is still good, fortunately the smile between your brows shines as brightly as the sunrise. Walking down the road, glancing aside, your smile is as enchanting as the whole world, his smile is open and vast. In front of your smile, I feel facing the sea, and when I open my eyes, it is spring with flowers in bloom.
Life is still good, fortunately your peaceful face is as quietly beautiful as the sunset at dusk. You leave quietly just as you came quietly, waving gently without taking a cloud away. Time flows through the cracks of our fingers; the abandoned railway in the forest is already rusty. Memories are always so profound, that quiet beauty is suffocating.
Life is still good, fortunately you've gone, yet you are still beside me. I sit on the train without looking back, and you stand in place, your anxious eyes following my train into the distance, hoping that I will return soon; you walk toward hope, carrying a bag, turning back to give me a smile, asking when we can play a game again; and it is also you who heads steadfastly toward the morning star, without Athens, without Rome, and without the road we came from.
Yet life still does not change its flowing essence. Even though we keep moving forward like a clock, in the end we find ourselves back where we started.In the evening, the moonlight mottled, the leaves swayed, and I sat in the stands of the stadium, watching the vibrant youth below, watching the flickering lights coming from afar, reaching near, and spreading from here to there. Life is still good, fortunately beautiful in its melancholy, fortunately at this place of the Yellow Crane Tower.
Time passes, a thousand and a hundred cycles cannot surpass a single moment of beauty here. Who loves to smell a hint of jasmine in the morning, and delights in it; who loves to drink a cup of cloudy wine at dusk, speaking alone to the moon; and who does not understand the sorrow of parting, going alone up the high tower to sigh over the scattered rain and sudden wind; and who painted that blood-stained landscape, which cannot match the vermilion between your brows.
You say: How deep, how deep is the courtyard, willows piled like smoke, countless layers of curtains.
I say: Last night the west wind withered the green trees, I climb the high tower alone, gazing over the roads to the ends of the earth.
Is life still good?
Life is still good.
Life is still good!
