You said grow old together, be happy, and wear red makeup, Chang Yan, but I stayed on the railing for thousands of years, with no one holding me.
I saw the years without you in Jiangnan, and you saw dancing butterflies in Chang 'an.
You said that the seas run dry and the rocks crumble, flowers bloom and the moon shines and love lasts forever, but I look forward to the pavilion, and no one sees it.
Miss you, the snow is all around you, eyebrows are thick, fingers are delicate and fragrant, sleeves are innocent, face is clean and ground to mud, face is alienated, tired and relaxed. Over the years, it will eventually become a memory, empty and silent.
It's no longer that I'm waiting in the vows that the seas run dry and the rocks crumble, nor that I'm waiting in romantic words. Who describes the sorrow of the world, who spreads in troubled times, who confides in the middle of the night, who cries, who floats in the fleeting time.