The fragrant clothes on the temples concealed a few sighs, and the cold eyes and flying eyebrows watched a few farewells.
The black hair is not the black hair of the cardamom year, but the melancholy that is different from the Chinese hair.
The worn sword is a reminder of time, but who knows whose bleeding heart it is.
That day, I closed my eyes in the fragrant mist of the teahouse, not to rest, but just to listen to the sutras you chanted;
That month, I walked through the shelves of the library, not for understanding, but just to touch your remaining warmth;
That year, I wandered in the plateau mountains, not for cultivation, but just to protect your faint smile;
That life, that season, that moment, this life...
I suddenly understood that in the fragments of stars, light and shadow, what could be escaped was the body, but what could not be escaped was fate.
The wooden boat floated in the water, and I saw that the boat-tying stone on the head of the river port still had beautiful patterns and had not changed its position for thousands of years.
Just like in my mind, your slightly tired face.