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Life is like a play, a dream; all splendor vanishes in the blink of an eye. Amidst the storms and turmoil, how many times have the moon waxed and waned? A sigh for fleeting years, a smile in the blink of an eye, and everything seems like yesterday.
On the long road of life, who is whose forever? The dreams of the past, in the days of comings and goings, gradually fade into silence; leaving only a memory, rippling in the deepest recesses of the heart, warming the fading years in the heat of summer.
Yesterday's worries troubled my mind, all gone in an instant; looking back, all traces of the past are gone, leaving only regret. On this long road of life, who is whose forever?
How many glances in past lives have only resulted in a fleeting encounter in this one? A brief glimpse, gone like a startled swan; who remembers the initial amazement? We are merely strangers passing by; our hand in hand, a journey between heaven and earth, is ultimately just a broken, sorrowful interlude.
What's gone is gone forever; reminiscing is cruel; sometimes futile, sometimes a relief. One thing to remember is that when you love, you love with absolute sincerity.
Being remembered or forgotten is a blessing. I'd rather be forgotten; at least she won't hate me anymore. And who says that the deeper the love, the deeper the hate?
If love ultimately ends in hate, how can one forget? So, is it forgetting or remembering? The human heart constantly oscillates between forgetting and remembering; the beauty of turning away and the vicissitudes of life buried in dust—how many can truly see through it all? How many can truly do it?
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