I do not want to quote the old, and yet young, fragile word—your kisses are ice-cold, like the pale moon. From within your vision I see hesitating, nitpicking, and unfathomable wavering. You look at the sky full of stars, seemingly searching. . .
We might be shallow if indulged in relaxation. We have been so exhausted before trudging a long way to fall into the river of love. I am expecting your apology, which you never say easily. I am praying for your commitment, which you make as if you never care. All these happen just without efforts as it seems.
On a dawn we sit on a bench by the lake. Light breezes ripple the water, smashing the shadows of you and me into a misty memory. I am always here for your lonely soul to snuggle up against, whereas you only let me clutch your hand, which is freezing.
Were nature sentient, she too would pass from youth to age; but man’s world is mutable, seas become mulberry fields. All struggling, torment and seeking would be gone.
Our oaths are like the night bell on Nanping Mountain, the rising and falling melody of the music instrument, the emerald tree swaying in the western breeze, and a silhouette in the glittering sunset. We hug each other, and yet in our embrace is not the other one but ourselves. In tears and ineffable ecstasy, we drift along this boundless ocean of sorrow, not turning around. Neither do you nor me.
Thus each of us has savored the ineffable solitude, an inter-puzzling agony, the fatigue through wearing each other out, the fear after we both saw the dark and dust of the other’s heart .
When we love to the bone, our withered heart is tormented and torn apart by having to face departures. Our hearts were exiled where happiness is too far to reach, where there is but our bittersweet expectation of love. We love this person, along with all living things—the sky, the earth, mountains and rivers. The soul is in nausea and anxiety, for the bygone rainy days.
Feelings surge like rushing rivers, and fluctuate like turbulent oceans. True love is always solemn and stirring, true love is always of solitude, just like darkness before dust. . . .
When can we touch our love and do not feel like touching our own wounds? When can we listen to our love not feeling like hearing feedback of our desperate call of life? And when is your solitude mine, your blood my tears? Lonely we would both open two doors of the heart, and let our breath make a concerto even in a day of no sun. At that moment solitude creates a magnificent savor. It is not only the tranquility of the Nanshan Mountain, the dawn and shimmering moonlight, the sunset at the desolate desert, and the lonely smoke rising above the river. It is more of peaceful smiles and confident departures. In a world filled with only joy and happiness, solitude is the haven of calmness. We savor the joyfulness of solitude, just as we chew olive, to taste its bitterness and sweetness.
Love is the monsoon of melancholy. You and I listen to life in the rain. There comes a gentle bell from the distance horizon. On a planet bathed in misty rain, you are a free bird flying high up in the sky, and I am but a lonely soul floating in the dark, stormy sea.
不想透露那句古老而又年輕得脆弱的話，你的吻是冰冷的，象蒼白的月光。你的目光透射著遲疑，挑剔和捉摸不定的游移，你望著滿天星斗，恍惚在尋找著什么……
輕松也許顯得膚淺，我們都已經很累很累，歷經長途跋涉才涉入情感的愛河，我等待著你永遠不輕意的歉意，我祈禱著你若無其事的許諾，這一切都是那么的隨意。
我們并坐在黃昏湖畔的長椅上，風輕拂水面，把你和我的倒影攪碎成一片模糊的回憶，我是你孤獨靈魂的偎依，而我只是抓緊了你冰冷的手。
天若有情天亦老，人間正道是滄桑，一切的掙扎，煎熬，尋覓都是過眼云煙。我們的誓言象南屏晚鐘，象悠揚的琴音，如西風碧樹，晚霞剪影。我們彼此擁抱，擁抱的只是自己，我們含著淚珠忍著難言的喜悅，雜亂無章地順著無邊的苦海游蕩，你不回頭...我不回頭......
就這樣，我們各自都體會到了一種難于言表的孤獨，孤獨是相互迷惑的陣痛，是相互鬢廝磨后的疲憊，是彼此竊見自己心之一隅塵圾后的惶恐。
愛到深處，憔悴的心靈被生離死別的期待煎熬著，心被流放到遠離幸福是地方，永遠是對情人渴望太久太甚的苦澀，愛情人，愛情人的天空，大地，山川河流，一切有靈性的萬事萬物。靈魂的悸動，焦灼，為雨季不再來，感情一如浩浩蕩蕩的江河，洶涌澎湃的海洋，真正的愛情永遠是悲壯，孤獨的，象黎明前的黑暗.......
什么時候，我們撫摸情人不再如撫摸自己的傷痕，什么時候，我們傾聽情人的呢喃不再如傾聽自己呼喚生命冗長的回聲，什么時候，你的孤獨就是我的寂廖，你的血液就是我的眼淚，我們會孤單的打開兩扇心扉，讓我們的呼吸在沒有太陽的白晝也協奏，這時候，孤獨是美輪美喚的別有樣情調，不僅是悠然南山，雪月黃昏，沙漠落日，長河孤煙，更是淡然微笑，灑脫揮手，生之悲歡，死之離合，歡樂淋漓的世界里，孤獨是冷靜的休憩。我們體驗著孤獨的歡愉，如咀嚼橄欖的苦澀與甘甜。
愛情是憂郁的季風，我和你在雨中默默傾聽著生命的足音，從遙遠的地平線輕輕響起鐘聲，在一片煙雨的星球上，你是天上的一沙鷗，我是星海單孤魂
（兼職編輯：楊帆）
