In a blink of eighteen years, time flows like water, diluting 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. You have always shone in everyone's eyes, even in those unseen corners, radiating brilliance, and I feel fortunate to have met someone like you.
I am lucky to have met someone like you. Even though writing about the countless possibilities of encounters makes my pen blossom, I never anticipated such a simple yet stunning meeting. I am fortunate to be your love, even though I have tried countless times to touch your cheek and then given up, there will still be a fervor that is insufficient even with a thousand embraces.
Who wouldn’t hope that such fervor could always be by their side, just like what you said, which is my favorite: "The days ahead are still long."
Eighteen years old is extraordinary for everyone; its value cannot be measured by any object. The art of paper and ink is the closest to the value of eighteen. Those precious or trivial memories flow through the lines, and perhaps when we revisit them someday, we 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, yet meet their beloved for the first time, of course, that is not me, but could it not be me?
I say you are the April day of the world;
Laughter brightens 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 vibrant 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 light floating your dream of white lotus.
You are the blooming flowers on every tree,
The swallows whispering in the beams, — you are love, you are warmth,
You are hope, you are the April day of the world!
To the one I love
August 17, 2023
This article is synchronized and updated to xLog by Mix Space. The original link is https://fmcf.cc/posts/life/To-MrWang