Missing is more painful than waiting (Lin Fei and Xiao Zhenzhen)

  How many footsteps on the bluestone road in Jiangnan?

  I am holding onto the pillar of life, under the bridge, embracing the vow, clinging tightly to that little light in the darkness.

  Water at foot, flowing gurgling waiting.

  March, April, May. Last year, this year, next year. The fleeting spring light is a dimly polished mirror reflecting the distant figures on the bridge.

  I won't think about it, the oath is weaker than fine rain, more delicate than a hair. I just don't want to miss it. I just took the blue waves as my eyes fluttering open.

  Don't think about it, love is flickering in the fishing fire, and murky in the wine shadow. I just don't want to miss it. I just take forgetting as a kind of memory.

  How much longer must I wait, for the reflection of that woman's face to appear in the water. Perhaps waiting is just a desperate flood, which will completely drown me.

  How easy it is to give up

  How many more times will I give up in this life?

  I just don't want to miss it.

  So I held on to the bridge pier, holding on to the gradual aging, holding on to that little bit of fearlessness in the midst of anxiety.

  Only because

  Missing is more painful than waiting.