Fleeting time—cold and indifferent

 　　Memories slip away like sand through my fingers, a torrential downpour obliterating the past. Are you alright?

　　We promised to grow old together, how could you bear to lose me? In our youth, we were oblivious to heartbreak; we were never meant to be, yet our shadows clung to each other. I still remember that night, the moonlight pouring down, starlight flowing through your hair, you smiling as you drank wine and admired the flowers. In that instant, memory forgot to breathe, even the evening breeze blushed. I looked directly into your eyes, which seemed to hold the shimmering light of the world, and time stood still. We met like that in the fleeting years, our youthful days brief yet beautiful.

　　Unconsciously, tears filled my eyes, and with a wave of my hand, I realized it was all a dream—warm love, sorrow, and a chilling realization. The memories we cherish are fleeting, a beautiful intersection, but who wants it to end in heartbreak? Promises become wounds, and the years of blossoming flowers are like snow melting under the winter sun. Picking up a sliver of spring light and green water, I find we haven't escaped the desolation that seeps through our fingers. Tears well up in my eyes; that fleeting romance was but a hastily staged play in life, yet it etched in my memory the dusty past of our prosperous years.

　　Time always slips away so quickly, leaving us as bewildered as children. Unaware of the wasted youth, I brew plum wine, a unique flavor lingering in my heart. Thoughts drift away with the wind; what night is this, a wrong turn of events, a misplaced desire to cast a shadow on the red bamboo. I like Nalan. Rongruo's life, a generation, a pair of lovers; I admire Li Qingzhao's "Who sends a letter from the clouds?", poignant yet elegant. A rendezvous after dusk, the moon rising above the willow branches—this is perhaps the satisfaction of a poetic state.

　　Time flies, a touch of melancholy, a chilling stillness, stranded like this, dust settled in solitude.