Count down the years and see the flowers that never bloom again.
I still remember the spring water and clear sky, painting boats and listening to the rain while sleeping. You are young, your shirt is thin, your red sleeves are full of wind.
Do you have to walk a long way alone? When the incense lamp is half-rolled in the tassel tent and the waning moon holds hands with you and we say goodbye in tears, the city is full of mist and rain and the hands are desolate. We have matured by ourselves.
When I was young, those emotions that flew by with time, the memories peeled off from the mottled walls of time, your name, your youth and frivolity.
Not everyone has a painful and bloody past, and not everyone will never let go.
Those who look back step by step and look at the path they walked in the past will eventually deviate from the original direction and drift further and further away.
There will be no one to accompany you to see through the scenery and shooting stars passing by in the fleeting years. No matter how attached you are to your eyes, they will eventually wither and break.
After walking through, there was only silence. Those lifelong vows and brightly colored pictures were actually just left where they were.
In fact, the years you spent on me are the sporadic bits of wealth in my meager life.
Now, I use them to slowly follow the route of memory and explore the deepest part, even if it is just a moment.
I hope you can still remember, I hope you can come back, even if it is full of depression, devastation, even if things are different and people are different.
What I want, what I long for, is just the memory of being with you. That's all.
Your voice, face, and smile are as fresh and bright as yesterday.
——The peach blossoms bloom brightly, and the son returns home, which is suitable for his family.
Hold your son's hand and grow old together.