Seal cutting thoughts, stories of successful people, genuine folding knives. The blade is cold but lingering. Outside the blue stone bridge, a stroke of ink splashes as tears turn into winding landscapes. The imagery of shadows, elusive and hard to describe, forms a painting of mountains and rivers. Stories at both ends, scattered and fallen into the other shore. Fragile seasons, misplaced and moistened memories. The rhythm sways with the melancholy sound of the zither. Who has scattered a ground full of false words of love? A trace of dark fragrance, permeating your appearance. Love has reached a dead end, prosperity falls into dance, loneliness drenched by rain turns into solitude. A heart ultimately turns from burning hot to icy cold. The poured-out past, photographs already yellowed, your plain face brightens the moonlight. Heart meets heart in vain, tears embrace each other in weeping. Tonight the moon is sleepless, this is a night where even loneliness feels lonely. I love you, I chase, I am crying quietly. My love for you, my tears know.