A tune of "Star and Moon Myth" resonates boundlessly through the night. Immersed in the music, for a long time, because women love to fantasize, I imagine a mythical and exotic love story. A faint smile rises at the corner of my mouth, as gentle as an early spring breeze, clearly narrating the distant past and some stories related to me.
The flower season passes by in haste, lingering only at the edge of memory. Back then, watching couples on the street holding hands, I would fantasize about what my ideal man would look like. I was once captivated by Qiong Yao's novels filled with intense romance, deeply moved by the protagonists' tortuous fates.
Later, I met a man like this, full of tenderness and helplessness. But when I turned away, everything was replaced by superficiality. Just like the words Buddha said to the spider: "Back then, he was a small grass in front of the Yuan Yin Temple. He watched you for three thousand years, admired you for three thousand years, but you never lowered your head to meet his gaze..." Lifting my misty eyes slightly, I suddenly realized that memories had faded their vibrant colors.
Only on days with wind and rain can one truly appreciate the meaning of life? Isn't it so! Loving and crying made me realize how cruelly reality shatters the beauty of imagination. The heart of a young woman is originally like a flower in a greenhouse, quietly basking in warm sunlight. Unbeknownst to me, the roof disappeared, a gust of wind, a downpour, left me utterly disheveled.
Sorrow has stubbornly taken root within me for a long time. Time passes indifferently. With a serene and graceful demeanor, I shut off all sensations. A gradually clear figure walks through layers of cycles.
Notes play a beautiful melody along the trajectory of youth. Firecrackers burst out amidst the cheers and applause of the crowd, as the beautiful bride blooms with radiant smiles. Through the large floor-to-ceiling mirror, I can't recall when exactly I painted a beautiful picture for myself - wearing a white veil, smiling lightly while holding flowers, walking together on a romantic path under dazzling fireworks...
Expectations are lost. Like coffee, its bitterness lingers around the lips. Two figures inside the city of marriage, two different rhythms. Disordered, disordered, disordered.
A pool of heart water, unintentionally stirred, ripples with dazzling waves. Listening to the rustling winds outside the window, my thoughts drift away with the wind and sand. Women are like flowers, fleeting lives like dreams. When the flowers fall into dust, losing their luster, will there be a pair of warm hands to gently bury me?
Emotions are unrelated to time or right and wrong. Clenching my own hands tightly, I step forward calmly, with a stubborn and peaceful expression, with a composed and steady stance. Learning to be grounded...