It's night now, and I'm lying on the couch in the study, holding in my hand a book of poems that I don't know how many times I've read. The smoke of incense rose lazily from the gilded incense burner, filling the whole room with a faint sadness. A feeling that was both illusory and estranged came to my mind, and I couldn't help but recall the long-lost past... Really, a long, long time has passed, and the appearance of the characters in it has been blurred by the years. I can only find some shadows by trying to recall it.
That was decades ago, and I was in my prime. But now, when I look at myself in the mirror, I can't help but feel a little sad. Time flies, and many things in life have passed and cannot be reversed. Fortunately, time still leaves people with some rights and the right to recall.
The old beggar is like this, and so am I. I'm not sorry, I'm just a little helpless, the helplessness that people all have when they get older...
Intention: