In a flash, eighteen years have passed; time flows like water, fading the past and revealing a new future.
The brilliant stars and the fiery sun are celebrating your birthday, and of course, so am I. Those pulsating, twinkling memories are the emeralds that belong to you over the past eighteen years. All along, you have been shining in everyone's eyes, even in those unseen corners, radiating brilliance; how fortunate to meet someone like you.
Fortunate to meet someone like you, even though writing about the countless possibilities of encounters makes the pen blossom, I never anticipated such an ordinary yet stunning meeting. Lucky to be your love, even though countless attempts to touch your cheek were given up, there will still be a fervor that even a thousand embraces would not be enough.
Who wouldn't hope that such fervor could always be by their side, just like what you said, which I love the most: "The days ahead are still long."
Eighteen is extraordinary for everyone; its value cannot be measured by any object. The art of paper and ink comes closest to the value of eighteen. Those precious or trivial memories flow through the lines, and perhaps when revisited in the future, one can recall the beauty of the past, present, and future.
Perhaps, that youth under the blazing sun will once again walk that quiet ancient path traveled many times, but this time meet a beloved, though that is not me, could it not be me?
I say you are the April day of the world;
Laughter lights up the winds from all directions;
Lightly dancing in the brilliance of spring.
You are the mist in the early April sky,
The soft wind blowing at dusk,
Stars twinkling unintentionally, raindrops falling before the flowers.
So light, so graceful you are,
Wearing the crown of fresh blooming flowers,
You are innocence, solemnity, you are the full moon of every night.
That pale yellow after the snow melts, you resemble;
The fresh green of newly sprouted buds, you are;
Tender joy, the water's light floating your dreams of white lotus.
You are a tree full of blossoms,
A swallow whispering in the beams, — you are love, you are warmth,
You are hope, you are the April day of the world!
To my beloved
August 17, 2023
This article was synchronized and updated to xLog by Mix Space. The original link is https://fmcf.cc/posts/life/To-MrWang