Autumn sorrow silently turned around, winter worries quietly arrived, melancholy night, wind and rain, trance dreams, wisps of worry.
The fate missed in the past life, the love of reunion in this life, the vicissitudes of five hundred years, and the quiet waiting for five hundred years.
It is still under the laurel tree, it is still the flowers that bloom in the city, it is still holding hands to look at each other, and it is still seeing each other and hating each other.
In the peach blossom ferry, who will stand acacia into a lifetime of sadness; upstairs in the bright moon, who will dance the spring wind as unparalleled in a lifetime.
The country and mountains are picturesque, how many scenery flows between the eyes at a time; life is like a dream, and how many deceased people are lost in time in the blink of an eye.
When a boom is over, who can keep what? If a fate is missed, who can find back whom?
The night is not yet dark, it is difficult to wake up in the dream, how much the flowers in the dream are known, several times of lovesickness and several times of suffering, the past life and this life have long been indistinguishable.
The wind and rain washed away the tears on the cheeks, the falling flowers buried the glitz of the bottom of the heart, and the sound of the piano on the other side stirred away sorrow and hatred.
The flowers are tired, the moon is weeping, the people are sad, who guards whom, who abandons whom, but it is just a joy and an emptiness.
Like years of flowing water, fireworks in the world, cold nights and lonely lights, tossing and turning, who snubbed whose years, who wandered in whose end of the world?
Those who have walked the road, seen the scenery, and missed it, inadvertently, have long been drowned by the years and left in the past.
When the prosperity is over, what is scattered may be a cool place, but what remains in the heart is the volatile fragrance of flowers and the warmth of a lifetime of attachment.
The gentleness of the night, the joy of the moon, the obscurity of the mountains, the clarity of the water, every scenery and every moment in the world are stories.
Time has traveled through thousands of years, over thousands of mountains and rivers, and we can only have a very limited, subtle period of time.
Those who miss may be lost forever; the missed scenery may never be seen, without cause and effect, for no reason, everything is doomed.
The next life is too far away, live a good life, hold the warmth in your hands, keep the love in your heart, walk the road in front of you, the flowers bloom into a scene, and the flowers fall into poetry.
A journey of mountains and rivers, a cut of idle clouds, a wind and rain all the way to an ice heart, only wish this to go through the years, has been frank, has been kind, has been peaceful.
The flow of years is like water, the years are quiet, may you always have mountains and rivers in your eyes, there are always hills and valleys in your chest, and there are always clouds and flowers in your heart.
-Author-
Wen Ling, a freelance writer, has her works in major newspapers and online platforms. This article is the author's original and reprinted with the author's permission.