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Twilight Reflections |
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Perhaps one day, in this twilight hour, the desolate heart quietly opens. Let
the fading sunlight, with its remaining strength, penetrate all the pain. I
still see you, standing by the green grass, quietly gazing at the illusory sky.
How many lingering memories keep you wandering here, while the sweet water
watches the ripples of the wind, shining brightly. The shadow of the wind
recalls the wandering of fallen leaves, spinning with tenderness, yet tinged
with sorrow. Just me alone, along with your soul, by the green grass, loving by
the lake, holding hands, walking through.
I know it's still me, left with the falling maple leaves. The faint little
scripture will carry my pain and travel far. The maple leaves of the ancient
maple have fallen, the grass by the green grass has turned yellow. Fallen,
fallen; yellowed, yellowed. Twilight, this sorrowful and desolate moment, the
flowing clouds in the sky seem tired, unwilling to accept the tears of weeping
souls. I wait bitterly, waiting to sink into the bitter sea. The river by the
green grass, I wonder how many youthful dreams it has carried, connecting the
loneliness and solitude of the ancient maple.
The green grass stretches endlessly, spanning the ends of the earth. In the
twilight, its lonely tears will also flow with the river. The threads of rain
hold every longing, growing farther away. The cherry blossoms have fallen. The
wind, petal by petal, blows across every inch of its beauty. Snow, I don't know
when it arrived, but it did. Fluttering snowflakes, along with cherry blossoms,
petals upon petals, blur the eyes. The haze in the sunset still can't see that
touch of crimson. Perhaps it's the blushing face of the green grass, burning, as
the ancient maple counts the petals of cherry blossoms.
The strong wind blows all the petals, all the longings. Spinning, lingering. And
the river, melancholy, passes through each maple leaf, swirling. The rosy glow
of the sunset can no longer be reproduced, that haze transforms everything,
putting an end to lingering, to longing. Only the small river beside the ancient
maple, the small river by the green grass, still remains, still remains in this
twilight.
How fleeting the brilliance of cherry blossoms is. The gentle wind always blows
away the clouds in the heart. Lingering, isn't it also a form of pain? Longing,
isn't it also a shade of darkness? In fact, we should learn how to enjoy
loneliness. In that desolate world, there is only the hollow reflection of
oneself, and then, the gentle wind brushes through your hair, suddenly you will
discover how beautiful and pure your eyes are.
Gradually learn to discover colors in that desolate world. The maple leaves of
the ancient maple are yellow; the grass by the green grass is yellow. And in
that desolation, the yellow color is imprinted even more deeply in the mind,
lingering, lingering.
Perhaps a year of winter, an endless winter. Let the cold seal all your
thoughts, let them stiffen. You still shout loudly, that heart-wrenching scream,
swirling in the gray sky, sending out ripples, rippling away.
And the path covered with cherry blossoms and snowflakes, those countless
sparkling and translucent hailstones of the heart, are your tears. And you are
the one who weeps. |
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Answer |
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In this poetic piece, the narrator contemplates the fleeting nature of life and
the emotions that accompany it. They imagine a twilight moment when their
desolate heart opens, allowing the fading sunlight to pierce through their pain.
The scene is set by a green grassy landscape and an illusory sky, where memories
and dreams intertwine. The presence of a loved one is felt, and they traverse
the grassy banks of a river, hand in hand. The changing seasons, symbolized by
falling maple leaves, yellowing grass, cherry blossoms, and snow, evoke a sense
of transience and melancholy. Amidst it all, the narrator grapples with their
own loneliness and learns to appreciate the beauty in solitude. The piece
concludes with the recognition that tears and longing are integral parts of the
human experience. |
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