"Think carefully, what can you give me? Material satisfaction, or a final sense of belonging? You cannot! So…" Perhaps, I am really immature, perhaps I really haven't grown up, perhaps I am too earnest and infatuated, perhaps what you said is truly something I cannot accomplish… but still, I sigh behind the shadow of us, sighing that time cannot witness unchanging love. Those former vows and promises were just the fleeting illusions of temporary happiness—how much of it was real? Besides, we never had any vows or promises!
How much of the pride of 'refusing to rest on even the coldest branch' ends up reaping only a cruel cruelty in life? Many years later, when things have changed and people have changed, what can we still keep? What can we still possess?
What we always need is not sweet words, but the patience to walk together. That must be a love deeper than the sea; only then can it be the 'April day' forever immortal in time. But do you have such patience?
Alas, alas, after sighing, I still don't know what exactly is regrettable!
So much waiting has aged the years, becoming regrets in the span of time. Perhaps all things are predestined in the mysterious ways—'nothing lasts forever,' is that our ultimate ending?
On the thorns of memory, too many beautiful dreams were planted, yet harvested were too many fleeting illusions. What stories does time hide: beginning like sweet dew, ending in heart-wrenching sorrow?
On a night of tearful eyes, the past was equally beautiful. Resting by the stream of years, how many unforgettable lines of poetry were gathered? Starlight sheds silent tenderness; no matter the years afterward, who belongs to whom, it's all but the cold mist on the path. Let those memories gently lull the feathers of time to sleep, let hostility vanish like fleeting smoke, let the passing years shine with fragrance…
A glance shatters the coffee of late spring, a glance boils the cool rain of midsummer, a glance peers through all the autumn waters of the world, and in winter, eyes see no snow at all. I only feel that on that swaying night, you always came from memory.
No matter what becomes the ending, what difference does it make? Since you are infatuated with roses, then bravely express your sincerity. If you find roses barren, then embrace tulips completely—that is your freedom. Affection, the hidden fragrance drifting just right, everything is within expectation.
A few desires are enough to weary a fragile heart; a few words are enough to leave you naked before others."Can one reach out, hold onto devotion, hold onto youth and innocence, and not let helplessness scatter all around? Actually, it is very simple: a pair of gentle eyes in the night sky gently embrace the pride blossomed in those years, soften a shower of mist, and charm a deep courtyard. It is enough, it is enough, one must not be too greedy!\ In the midnight dreams, that person is where the lights are dim, as long as we have loved each other even once, it is a life without regrets; you are here, and I will not fail you.\ Those petal-covered paths we once walked together, those petals lightly falling on your hair, warming your face. The pride that once bloomed, the faint fragrance drifting, has sufficed to fragrance your heart and mine. There are many reluctances, at the end of the starlight, there is still my full tenderness.\ The spring breeze has gently blown, as if it is your gentle touch from afar; in a daze, the coconut trees follow the setting sun, all the wrinkles are smoothed, and the cheerful face is as before. Some affections have become the feng shui in memory, incapable of soaking even a wisp of kitchen smoke; ultimately, it is like seeing flowers in the fog, sigh after sigh.\ Love is not a legend; those accumulated warmthes touch devotion.\ When did time tear apart vows of mountains and oceans? Everything, little by little, has been defeated by time.\ There is no need to speak of entanglement; the blossoming tenderness passes in time, lightly crumbled by fleeting years, yet in the heart every day, there is a gentle stream.\ Later and later, no matter how desolate, the name engraved in the heart remains warm as ever, growing old slowly with time.\ A single thought, a tree in full bloom, brightens the face, brings poetry to the entire world. Turning mountains, rivers, and pagodas, encountering you is the most beautiful; flowers bloom for a season, warming to tears.\ Looking back, happiness will always reappear.\ Having decided to plant a tree in the heart, why fear the sentimental harm to youth? Invisible charm, tangible memories circulate in the feng shui, remaining immortal. Perhaps it is destiny that cannot be defied; some affections bloom again and again, the heart becomes a prison. Perhaps it is unrelated to the ending; touching devotion, lightly wrapped in no regrets, collecting every bit of beauty, holding firmly to each concern, love like life, time leaving its voice.\ There is always a need for some warmth, even if it is just a little self-righteous remembrance.\ How much longing is known in one night? Those who love often get betrayed by love, human matters of gathering and parting, who has no regrets? Perhaps, in time, nothing can truly last forever, and we can only let fate take its course.\ Those people we promised to meet will also get lost in the misty rain of the world. Those lands decay, and ultimately, the heavens perish.Watching each other in pairs, unable to see through the changes of the world, eventually forgetting each other, forever, perhaps, is only the wish of life. The pursuit across countless rivers and mountains ultimately turns out to be just a downfall in this life. Standing through the slanting sun, wet with the fireworks, poetic and vast, the human world in April. Quietly airing the legends of time, one sound after another, every watch, all for the sake of old longing. Crossing the dark years, abandoning hesitation, the world in the heart is so clear and lofty. Perhaps, one heart can still run free like a flying horse, can still keep following, still bloom, never wither. In a moment, a joy, drifting clouds—can they understand my thoughts? Deep feelings with nowhere to settle add to the vicissitudes. An encounter is enough to age all the years. Where have the peach blossoms gone among human faces? There is a place to come, a place to go, perhaps one should be grateful, whether in joy or sorrow, a life with love is always gentle. A tree of peach blossoms softens the spring in the garden. A ground of falling petals gently sprinkles smiling delight. If the heart is like a peach blossom, a dot of red, falling into mud and ground into dust, innocence remains as before. Why bother with gains or losses? Why bother with coming and going? Many emotions belong purely to one person and can only be resolved by themselves. Those charms always linger in life, across the farthest distance in the world, once truly touching eternity. Warmth has always been there, never leaving, in an unregretful posture, guarding the homeland of the soul. The sound of the wooden fish is always so near and so far. How many nights of whispered words have been cruelly buried by time? How much wordless tenderness still leisurely wanders in life? Will we still tremble, carefully offering our hearts to each other? Once, we constantly gave each other surprises, yet it was also repetition, filled with the taste of happiness. Every day repeats simple joy. Spring goes and comes again, flowers bloom and fall again, where are you? Is the so-called forever really so fragile? At times, I hide alone in a corner, avoiding greetings. In life, there is always someone, hidden among the lights, scattering a ground of tender emotions like water. If one can truly live in memory, that too is warmth and beauty. Perhaps, one day, we will all become the backs of the world. Unintentionally possessing the whole spring, the entire maple forest, perhaps, they never belonged to me. Today, I return them to the world, searching for those simple deep affections.\If love grows old, one should not ask for too much, but watch it with a sincere heart forever, letting time slowly accumulate the tenderness of the years.\On the window lattice, your figure is vaguely present, along with the tree swaying with warmth, as if the breath of spring has arrived.\We should have walked and paused long ago; endlessly searching, how much beautiful time has been wasted?\We should have paused and walked long ago; blindly infatuated, how much oppression have you felt?\Happily do the things that make you happy, and joyfully seek your own happiness, after all, love different from the public's cannot be equated with the life of the public.\This is love, hard to explain; this is love, muddled and confused…
