The Peach Burns on the River Embankment, Not as Beautiful as a Queen

Those obsessions about "choosing one thing for the rest of your life and staying with one person for the rest of your life" were eventually consumed by indifference, betrayal, and hatred. Those beautiful fantasies and vows were exposed and exposed, and the scene of the river embankment burning with peach blossoms was never seen again. The bloody youth and the illusory memories were painful. The light in your eyes, the expectations in the years, all contain the hidden meaning of hurt. I am the past that you don't want to mention, and she is the future that you yearn for. It is true that you don't love her, and it is true that you like others. I don't know if I let go when I say it, or if I love others when I say I love others. Is it a long-planned or smooth process? But how can I be willing to hurt the person I once held in my hand and loved. Recalling the dust pattern and the gentlest moon, the obsession that spread into yarn eventually turned into a foot of white hair and twisted into a slope of weeds. When the storyteller folds his fan and whispers the song, everyone ends. The light in those plain years finally faded away, and I finally regretted meeting, regretting falling in love, and regretting that ridiculous fleeting time. Intent: romanticism of literati