In that life, you were a butterfly and I was a fallen flower. The flower's heart was broken, and the butterfly's wings were as far away as the sky.
In that life, you were the stars and I was the crescent moon, our shapes and shadows were incompatible with each other, and our years were wasted.
The golden sword and the iron horse, the moon in the water and the flowers in the mirror, the graceful moment.
That wisp of green smoke passed down from generation to generation embellishes the fairy tale of you and me, regardless of high or low, regardless of glitz, three thousand hairs, and a lifetime of care.