Life is more than just the present hardships

     It's raining in the bustling street, just like when you suddenly appeared before me years ago. The rain came abruptly, without warning or foreshadowing, just like that, creating ripples on my skin, leaving me drenched and caught off guard.

    Memories seem to reappear before my eyes, all flowing out with the drizzling rain, weaving an impenetrable wall, trapping me within. No matter how hard I try, I can't reach you on the other side. You've become an unattainable landscape before me, something I can only long for but never reach.

    I wonder, what kind of rain could wash away the longing this memory has bestowed upon me? What kind of wind could blow away the yearning this memory has given me? Yet life is but a quiet retreat, a solitary journey. When the wind blows, it carries the fragrance of memories, a feast for the senses; when the rain falls, it carries the lingering reluctance of memories, leaving behind only boundless sorrow for me, an outsider, to savor alone.

    I wonder, what words should I write to dispel the gloom left by these memories? What melody should I sing to dispel the loneliness bestowed upon me by these memories? Life is a journey that gradually fades into the distance. Some are fortunate enough to find a lifelong companion, while others are left alone, confined to a solitary lamp and ancient Buddha, watching the yellow leaves fall in solitude.

    I wonder, what verses should I write to remember the deep affection and unwavering devotion I felt when we embraced? I wait, waiting for the sunset to become an unchanging guardian, waiting for the spring grass to turn green into a verdant youth, waiting for the spring flowers to turn red into a crimson longing, waiting for the drizzle to fall into an endless yearning… Yet life is inherently a game of half-madness and half-frenzy, leaving behind only an unsolved game of chess.

    I say, if time permits, I wish to borrow the romance of spring blossoms to paint a vast landscape of mountains and rivers. I would write words you like, listen to you sing my favorite songs, accompany the flowing years, dance in the moonlight, write freely in the cup, amidst the poetic beauty of red flowers and green grass, share with you the white clouds as a blanket, the mountain rocks as a pillow. Forget worries, be indifferent to worldly vanities, and spend a lifetime together amidst green mountains and clear waters.

    I realize that no matter where I go, I should remember that the past is all an illusion, memories are an endless road, and all past springs are gone forever. Life is not just about the present hardships, but also about poetry and distant fields. In the world of poetry, you are a free entity I can never reach, ultimately becoming a final, poignant line in my memory. In the world of fields, you become the wheat waves I cannot touch, ultimately becoming the cycle of life and death in my memory, the moment after the rain becoming an unattainable luxury, ultimately losing the last piece of memory I held onto in the rain.

    I once thought that sunshine would follow the rain, but always halfway there, dark clouds would appear, plunging me into boundless darkness, with no hope of recovery, only waiting for time to sing me a song of clear skies. Memories are a road without end, unless you can let the past be the past, and you must never tell anyone about them, for if you do, you will miss everyone.

    As I savor the happiness these memories bring me in this drizzle, I also taste the boundless bitterness left behind by those memories, carried away by the rain. But, as Xu Wei sings, "Life is not just about the present hardships, but also about poetry and distant fields. You came into this world empty-handed, determined to find that sea." The rain will eventually stop, memories will eventually fade, but your pursuit will never cease.