Memory is the path I've walked through.

     Memory is the path I've walked.

    How many people have said that meeting you was the most beautiful accident of my life? And how many have said that if we had never met, would our memories not carry so much pain, struggling to remember and desperately trying to forget in the flow of time?

    Memory is the path I've walked. It's walking through crowds without you, walking through lonely wanderings, walking through dark nights without you, walking through days of longing, walking through bright youth, walking through the unfamiliarity that follows familiarity, walking through dreamy landscapes, walking through the gentle flow of time, and walking through the pain and sorrow associated with you.

    This summer, the lake is gentle, the breeze caresses the hand of memory, floating and sinking in a fragrant vortex, waving a lonely heart that is hard to command, a moment of desolation, like a lost flock of geese, unable to find a trace of warmth or dwell with the brightness. I think I am like this, so bored and lonely, pondering and refining fragments of memories. But, memory is that you and I truly walked together.

    Outside the window, the pavilion is shrouded in mist and rain. Memories have fallen, but you are gone and gone. Looking back on the past, tears fall like rain. Who was it that sang of the indelible pain of memories from the rain? For you, no matter where I go, it is only a scar in my memory, a clear line, etched in my memory of the passing years. In the flow of time, the word "youth" is just a piece of paper, a wound.

    When did time become my most painful theme? Is it because of memories, or because of the witnesses of the past? Walking through the withering of flowers, what is triggered is still the sentimental feeling of the past. It always makes the intersection of joy and sorrow seem like a dream. Even if some people come and go, parting and reunion, what remains in the end is only memory. What has passed will be remembered, what has hurt will be forgotten.

    In the distant alley under the setting sun, who is it that sails across the horizon, lost in the sighs of fleeting time, laughing as the wind blows and the grass grows strong, and the colorful flowers are mesmerizing, burying the vicissitudes of life in the muddy path, looking back on the road they have traveled, time peels away the past, and in the gathering and scattering of floating clouds, they estimate the waiting in their memories, the trivial words of sorrow on the page, like a dream of living together shattered, decaying and fading away in the inability to find a way back.

    My soul listens to the tide in my dreams, sorrowful as smoke and dust. Petals drift in the wind, casting away old memories; tears fall on the roadside as people part. Alone in the darkness, I listen to the moon's silent lament; I ask, what is the point of cherishing these fleeting moments? The green mountains are colorless; at dusk, I lean on the railing and gaze. The wind and clouds in my ink, the stories under my pen, await no one to meet. My feelings remain the same; I sleep drunk at dusk. Outside the door, noise swirls; cars rush by. I've

    looked back countless times, severing lingering thoughts. Why seek deep memories in the vastness? I hear songs in the wind, faint memories, broken verses of sorrow. The dust of the year blows to its end; I deeply regret the many joys I've encountered. This life's memories, loneliness should end with the extinction of emotions. Even if I strum the strings to write memories, a farewell song on a boat, it's nothing more than human affairs and letters. A weary traveler, wasting time on fleeting moments, tears falling freely. Memories, in the mournful wind, resonate with the strings of a troubled heart. How many emotions have withered in the past, desolate and uncared for? Perhaps happiness isn't about how many people remember you, but about being remembered at the end of suffering.

    I borrow the evening clouds to remember old friends, leaning on the railing for warmth. Who has betrayed my longing? Who has cast their heart upon the setting sun, painting the memories that pour forth? New sorrows arise with wine, old grudges are recalled with pen. Even if sadness lingers, loneliness cannot dispel my worries. Without you, I would never let my time be wasted so thoroughly in waiting. Let memories accompany me through the long, flowing years, becoming indelible words of sorrow.

    Parting songs lead to drunkenness, the setting sun vie for brilliance. I immerse myself in the intoxicating seaside, letting the falling sunset shroud the mottled, vivid scene. Memories that have never been so beautiful are now gazing at the scenery and longing for someone. The sound of the receding tide strikes the deepest sorrows within my heart. You will never understand this feeling. In the midst of pain, memories are so beautifully pleasing. I know that true emotions are often like this, built on ruins.

    Memory is what I've walked through, with a heart that has never known joy, using sadness to depict the fleeting years. You never stopped, turning away and leaving my innocent youth desolate. In your ruthlessness, sorrow permeated the vows we made to never part, gradually sealing my heart with cold dust. There was no meeting after our parting, so how desperately can I forget? All of this has passed through my memory; I foolishly walked through it all, alone, for so long.

    Time is an ageless theme, the vibrant colors of youth, the swift passage of years, the bittersweet memories, accompanying the fading years, composing a melody of memory without tune with the vicissitudes of life. So many painful words have grown within the memories of joy and sorrow. If I could choose again, I would never let you into my world, and I would never let you leave my memories.