Having walked through the intensity of wine and fallen into the romance of Coffee, I smile. What I miss most now is the tranquil clarity of Tea. It's as if all worldly matters have become elegantly understated, like a tea leaf that floats gracefully in a Cup, its fragrance distancing the world's tumult.
Picking up the Teacup, I put down my pen, moved by an emotion, or perhaps nostalgia. Like tea, it's faint yet touches the depths of my heart.
Cause and effect, all due to fate. Perhaps tea and water were destined to meet after a heartfelt glance ten thousand years ago. In this life, they come together. I am the water, the stream water. You are the tea, the tea of passion. It must have been a long-awaited encounter, a verse from the Han Palace Spring that drew many admiring glances. When snowflakes fell and the clear flute played in the cold, our meeting was destined, becoming a beautiful story. Tonight, with tender presence, I Brew a cup of tea, open the piano lid, and play a tune, not knowing where to begin with memories of the past.
The tea at my lips emits a soothing aroma. The water in the cup flows gently with the music, a light fragrance wafting over, enveloping me in a dreamlike warmth. With a gentle smile, my slender fingers grasp the cup, evoking a tender pity. Like a flower blooming for a moment, lightly entering the heart; like cool autumn colors spreading across a slanted path. Sitting on the veins of time, I recall the initial scenes, listening to a song that echoes legends deep within the world.
Silent, unspoken. My mind is like a rippling sea, carrying tenderness in poetry, accompanying you as we reminisce about the past, pondering life. Unfolding a white sheet of paper, opening the night's prelude, what voice is recounting the tale of delicate fragrances? Across distant miles, I wonder if my fleeting autumn is just like your spring bloom? As the wind passes, leaves and flowers flourish, blossoming in the water, the tea aroma gradually fading.
As serene as orchids, forgotten. Separated by vast distances, snow brings thoughts of you, causing a momentary lapse in focus under the solitary lamp. The tea finally falls silent, the water speechless, my gaze sweeping over the vicissitudes of life. A mist rises, and between us, we are merely passing through the years, entangled in the web of fate, struggling without respite. For even though we gaze across the sea, holding onto youth and enduring the winds of time, we refuse to grow old. Thinking of far-off places, now becomes a cherished memory.
Mountains piled high, clouds layered thick, running barefoot cannot reach the end of fate. Where has the moon of that time wandered off to? Tonight's sentiment will ultimately fade with the cooling of the tea. No one can hold back time; every encounter marks the beginning of parting. When the tea cools and the water stills, the world remains much the same, yet also an illusion. Saying goodbye, without a farewell, without looking back. After the winds pass, only the solitude of tea and water remains, without a start, without an end.
Water fills, tea permeates, merely a process. Gently taking up the pen, I write in quietude: above the world, there is a sentiment as faint as tea, a life as clear as water.