Stories begin so simply, yet end so painfully. I cannot forget that distant embrace, the retreating silhouette, the rain-swept dusk, and that sorrowful sunset... Our ending has left me with nothing.
Days pass in a plain, joyless, and worry-free manner, repeating a monotonous and tasteless life without pursuit or dreams. A corner of my heart has become a cage, imprisoning the past and shackling memories, unable to merge with the present. Suppressing my emotions, I force a smile. Watching time slip by, I try to grasp the past in my decadence, only to lose the present as well.
Life is a journey of selfless cultivation, and longing is the beautiful solitude within that journey. Using your sorrows and joys as my ink, I wander gracefully between the lines. I bury sadness in the corners of memory and stack layers of longing, keeping your countenance fresh and beautiful, untainted by time, to color my vivid dreams.
A night for one, a world for one—it is beautiful, tinged with a touch of sadness, with you in my thoughts. I smile quietly, treasuring this solitude, while my heart keeps a promise of eternity.
The night is deep, and the wind stirs the curtains. Grant me a piece of old time, to sit alone by a mossy wooden window and brew a pot of leisure tea. I care not when the southern swallows return home, nor do I ask where the small boat will be exiled to at the ends of the earth.
Why do you only say you love me when you are lonely? Why do you only draw near when you are solitary, or hold me when you are weeping? What am I to you? When you nestle in someone else's arms, do you ever think of me?
One travels while attending classes, exploring places we never walked together, wanting to tell you of my adventures. Even if we have grown as cold as ice, what does crying prove? True love does not exist only in tears.
The morning breeze carries three parts desolation, three parts sorrow, three parts sadness, and one part heartbreak and confusion. Walking alone on that familiar path, I suddenly realize that the smiles have faded, and the melancholy has grown.
