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Long ago, we all had dreams, whether they were beautiful or
prosperous. However, as time passed, these dreams remained buried under
countless specks of dust. Today, the world continues to flourish and
decline, but stories of the past are rarely brought up. We no longer
reminisce about the beautiful flowers that we couldn't reach...
Ten years ago, I had numerous fairy tale-like dreams and was filled with
fantasies and aspirations for the future. I longed to grow up. However, ten
years later, my heart is worn and restless, and nothing seems to calm me
down. I no longer want to grow up. There are too many worries that I can't
shake off, and I will have to face the ups and downs of life on my own. Like
an eagle, I must spread my wings and brave the storms, and perhaps, in the
end, all that will remain are the remnants of a once-flourishing past. At
dusk, the setting sun burns away all my delusions, and the falling flowers
on the branches turn into a desolate scene...
Sometimes, I like to stand in front of the window and gaze at the distant
lights. The colorful lights flicker, and tall buildings stand proudly. Each
household has a light, but what are the thoughts and emotions of the people
beneath those lights? As I peer into the darkness and confusion of this
side, I see many trees and graves outside my window. This mountain is not
frightening at all, and that grave is just a sorrowful sight that adds to my
melancholy. The poem "No Place to Express My Sorrow" by Su Shi comes to
mind, and my heart is filled with sadness. The stories and legends that
those people will never know are buried in the yellow soil on the green
mountains, and "the peach blossoms still smile in the spring breeze, but the
person's face is unknown."
The raindrops fall gently, and the wind blows the rain into someone's home.
The morning sounds resonate in my heart, washing away the dust and vanity of
yesterday. Is there still any dust left that hasn't been washed away? It's
not that darkness cannot be expelled, but rather that the sunlight has not
yet arrived.
The past is melancholic, and time flows like a river. Like snowflakes
falling from a pear tree, it will eventually cover the wind and smoke of
this world, scattering at the end of the earth...
The sky clears up, and on a moonlit night, everything seems so distant. The
dreams and realities of the past ten years are nothing more than fragmented
tales. In the midst of all the prosperity, we must express our innermost
thoughts. Our perception of the world is a reflection of our own lives.
Ten years is too long. The red walls are dyed with ink, and autumn turns
into winter, then into spring and summer. The falling flowers in the city
can only be surrounded by the setting sun in our dreams. Perhaps the winter
thunder and summer snow are just a cover-up. |
