[Ten strokes of Chang'an]
That year when he first arrived in Chang'an, he stood outside the high red wall and looked at it for a long time. He actually wanted to ask how long ten years was.
I write stroke by stroke, and the rain just keeps falling.
Later that evening, he finally saw him. From a distance, he saw him standing in the setting sun, with fallen flowers covering his shoulders. He wanted to step forward and hug him tightly, but when he got closer, he was already far away. There was only a desolate posture with open arms just out of reach...
Later, no one mentioned the stories of Chang'an anymore, and no one cared about the bustling prosperity and ruin.
I think that a long time ago, we all had a dream of Chang'an, which was charming or prosperous. In the passing years, it was silently left under the dust of thousands of years.