How many clear-headed moments can one truly see in life?

     On the day of the Awakening of Insects for many years, it always rained, a day when all things under heaven awaken, the rain their aura. And what about the Qingming Festival for many years? Yellow paper turned to smoke in the flames, drifting away, but unable to take away the sorrow and longing of the world. Tears in the eyes evaporated in the smoke, silently etching tear tracks into the heart. A few cups of wine were offered at the grave, shared with you, then looking around, a silent laugh escaped the lips. Wild grass grew on the grave, only desolation awaited behind.

    All this is the fault of reincarnation; everyone has their own destiny. Living and leaving are less understanding of human tenderness than the ever-flowing river. On Qingming, peach blossoms fell, treading a lonely and desolate path. Flames devoured the sorrow entrusted, firecrackers awakened slumbering life. Your image in my heart remains the same as before, that red spider lily, the flower of rebirth, nodding and smiling at me, as if you were conveying the whispered words of resilience from the living.

    As twilight descends, mist rises from the mountain, blurring the inscriptions on the monument. A chill seeps into my neck, a testament to the lingering chill of spring in the night. A pen scribbles haphazardly, capturing the poignant desolation. This Qingming Festival, rain or shine, sorrow has already cleansed the heart. Year after year, I allow worry to engulf me. Today, for the sake of mourning, I temporarily set aside joy.

    I glance at the stars, dreaming a pristine dream. Through the quiet years, our simple, youthful days have slowly matured. Our transparent hearts have gradually acquired a richer, more nuanced quality. From our first unsteady steps, we stumble and fall, but the pain of childhood is always better than growing up in a greenhouse. Whether we love or not, we begin to forgive and accept, until frost settles on our brows and silver blossoms adorn our hair. Have we finally come to see things clearly, understand them, and forgive the mistakes and oversights of youth?

    Unbeknownst to me, the sound of rain broke the silence of the night. Accompanied by the dim morning light, I prayed to the heavens that the green mountains would remain evergreen and the snow would turn white. The one who left this world knows that I can no longer walk with you, but you also know that I will still look in your direction.

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