It’s late at night, people are quiet, the lights are about to die, and the heart has not been quiet for a long time. Go to the window, open it and look up. The red moon is rare, and with a sigh, I recall the past. Those alliances and oaths have become empty promises, who can be cashed in now?

Everything is silent, the insects are chirping, and the thread has not stopped for a long time. Walking alone to the river, the water is rippling, the lotus is in full bloom, and there is a wisp of fragrance, and you can take a few cups of the clear spring. Those sweet words and sweet words have become a real joke. How can we go back to the past now?

I have walked through this shore and reached the other shore, and this shore is connected to the other shore. Leaning against the railing, a slight breeze stirred my thoughts. Those unwillingness and tender pity turned into a few drops of clear tears. It is difficult to write the brocade words and the broken thoughts are in vain.

Cross the broken bridge alone, walk on the wooden bridge, and connect the broken bridge to the wooden bridge. Strolling in the garden, the mist and rain were heavy, which made up for my memory. Those blessings, those reluctances, turned into a wisp of smoke, the bluebirds lingered, and the willows broke to express their feelings.

--Angus. Y

2012. 6. 27 nights