beautiful memories never grow old,
but we ain’t young forever.

wandering to the far north,
up the mountain, down the pass,
picking tea, weaving cloth,
wearing embroidered clothes and sedge shoes,
peaceful and leisurely days.
suddenly poured into the bottom of my eyes,
burning and clear sunlight.
ambiguity arises,
the nightmare seems too long,
so, therefore,
you haven't come back yet.

wake up hastily,
southern warmth caresses my skin.
in the oscillation of summer outside the doorway,
there is the sound of your constant turning books,
and our ten fingers, tightly interlaced.
"i'm here", you whisper softly.
frozen tears,
i stop crying.
;
but,
fissures in the chest cavity,
and pain to the point of paralysis,
all are real.
why. why so.
he smiled softly,
"just your illusion."
;
is it.