The days passed by like this, often without seeing how she came, but in the past, I thought I could see how she left. Now, my heart is clear, and the fleeting figure only becomes clear when I think back later. The gone spring and the farewell spring, in the past, I thought they were just like this season's spring in my heart, seemingly going like this, but when I say it in a hurry, it still feels slower. How can I describe it or think about it?
I have never stopped asking this question, never stopped reminiscing, but I have never had an answer to give, so I involuntarily become intoxicated and even more infatuated with the softness that has gone away.
I asked the plum blossoms in the corner of the courtyard, watching her, feeling sad for the sleeping flowers under the slightly distant peach tree. I asked the begonias beside the steps, watching her, feeling unhappy for the new buds on the pear tree not far away. I also asked the evening breeze, but it didn't say anything, just looked at me, then looked at the moon in the clear night sky, staring for a long time. At first, I didn't quite understand, but gradually, the joy and tenderness that didn't surge in my heart seemed to spread like a poem sandwiched between lotus leaves, spreading on the path illuminated by the clear moonlight. I originally wanted to ask the bright moon, but before I could, the evening breeze that was still by my side disappeared. When I looked again, the pool that was gently touching a few withered lotus plants was rippling with waves.
In a trance, I felt that this pool was no longer as clear as before, but it was just a place that had bid farewell to many departures in the courtyard. Perhaps it will never ripple with the same cold blue waves again. The strands of warmth that can only be reflected by the warm sun are clearly shining.
After a long time, I no longer think about asking or inquiring. I feel like I'm in a dream that I can't wake up from.
I know very well that saying this is no longer the same as before, pretending to be carefree, and how can it be so casual. Generally speaking, the past has always been thoughts and dreams that have passed, no matter how much I miss them. At least at this moment, I still can't think of how to compare the dream that has disappeared without a trace to the softness that is still lingering. But it's just a thought. Whether it's a joyful dream or a melancholic illusion, it will disappear overnight. The wind has always been gentle, carrying the sparse smoke and turning towards the distant distance. When the moment of dawn comes, no matter how much I try to recall, only the present and the future remain.
The moon last night was still desolate, but it was already the desolation of Mengchun. It will never make the warm sun of this Zhongchun sad. The warm sun last night was still gentle and long, but it was already the warmth of Zhongchun. It will never make the bright moon of this Zhongchun melancholic. What I think about now is only the sentimental feeling that was mentioned at the beginning when talking about the "past". It is not known how to describe the tenderness beyond the gentle touch.
At this moment, when I think about it, I remember a line from the Peking Opera "The Locked Linen Bag" by Xue Xiangling: "He taught me to let go of my hatred, avoid being coquettish, start anew, change my temperament, stop longing for the past, and find rebirth in the bitter sea, understanding the reason for the orchid early."
Yes, when looking back without coming back, how many hopes will be lost again.