A chance encounter, a careless promise, destined to wait for the rest of his life. "Holding your hand and growing old with you, from the maple forest we met by chance to the ends of the earth.”You accompanied me to watch the morning sun rise and the evening sun set. Maybe there is a small house in a distant place. Maybe we are not rich. Maybe we have to farm by ourselves. Maybe we will have many, many children... Maybe this is a date that is destined to be pursued in a lonely dream and never scheduled.
Love is lost in the night when I miss you, and I can't stop the tears from flowing. The sad rain of love not coming back. It used to be such a desire. Marriage was a good wine that was aged. The longer it was, the more fragrant it was. There were countless imaginations. Love was a touching and sorrowful experience. Only the beautiful melody was long and long. When the song came to an end, everyone dispersed. Only a lonely figure stood at the place where they had once met, waiting for the promise he had given her." In this life, I will hold your hand and slowly grow old with you.”This was once a solemn pledge of eternal love, but it had slowly weathered over the long years. There was a kind of promise called eternal companionship.
The night was silent. I was used to listening to such thoughts on such a night. My lonely wings flew into the distance with the depth of the night under the lonely moonlight. When I started to miss you, my heart was already lost. Missing you comes every night, like a lonely flower blooming, never fading away in the season without you. Whether it is now or in the future, you will still see my longing slowly passing through the endless stream of people. Following your figure, searching for your eyes, accompanying your promise.
Melancholy flowed in the bottom of my heart, drawing to the places we walked together, to the beginning of our acquaintance, to a memorable memory. Drifting down the river, I can't stop thinking about you. That longing quietly falls into the dust in an instant, into the lake of tears, arousing melancholy ripples. It lingers in the bottom of my heart and doesn't stop expanding. I let it flood and become a disaster, I let it wantonly become a river, and I let my heart be drowned again and again. The longing was deep and lasting, passionate and resentful, like the tide of the sea, always surging when I slept and retreating when I woke up, until eternity.
If life was just an encounter, I wouldn't understand that there is a kind of longing called longing, a kind of sadness called heartbreak, and a kind of love called unforgettable.
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