Looking at Each Other Across the Years

How wonderful it would be if our flowing youth could bring us back to the age of eighteen. I think I must become the woman picking lotuses in the south of the Yangtze River. I will pick up a wisp of flying flowers, lock my eyebrows, and leave the most beautiful moths in the flying catkins all over the city... Hee hee, this is just the most beautiful fantasy that remains in my heart. The years are turning so fast. Today, I am already a middle-aged woman in my early thirties. In a daze, when telling you this story, I seem to have returned to that neurotic era...