In a dream of Nanke, the lamp of parting burns down the beacon fires of the sky. Amid the flowing years of the Northern Dipper, a single thought reaches the other shore. Holding hands at the curve of the brow, weathered by vicissitudes, the inch of land between the brows upheaves like mountains. Offering the deep affection of Huaxia, bestowing three cups of wine, the song ends and people scatter, sorrow lingering. Consoling the young in their parting, splendor draws a line of separation, and the years paint a picture of emotional anguish. Parting is intense, sorrow forms a city, the straight road to the city gate holds a third of the sky; love is heavy, the sea of people changes, glancing at the scenery as rain falls. Three parts of an inch river, three cups of parting emotion, a sheet of desolation. The phoenix turns back, the broken song in the sea of people, ink and paper divided, love understood by two. One finger of Zen, the Bodhisattva in the sea of people, holding hands with emotional eyes, sorrowful thoughts.
His lifelong love, upon encountering that woman, bloomed fully and brilliantly like fireworks, then faded away in solitude.
No matter how good the oranges are, they are still oranges, while he prefers apples. In our youth, we easily mistake moving feelings for love, and passersby for true loves.
Letting go of this life's concerns, being alone is how free one feels.
They can drain our energy, occupy our happiness, and erode our lives.