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拨开岁月纠结如麻的情丝，染指纤尘的年华清晰可见，在别离曲弹奏起之时，我始终承认我的内心。我爱他，不管是经历了场怎么样的浩劫，不管岁月鞭策的我怎样的伤痕累累，我承认自己始终爱他。

Apart from the tangled years of love, the time of touching the dust is clearly visible. When the song of parting is played, I always admit my heart. I love him, no matter what kind of catastrophe I have experienced, no matter how scarred I have been driven by years, I admit that I always love him.

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幸福总是逃不过时间的扼杀，想要伸手去捉住什么，却是有气无力地挣扎着、痛恨着、无奈着。一次次失望的等待，结果换来的是一次次加深对自己的恨！抓得越紧流失的更快，却不敢松开，欲望越强失望越多，思念中的挣扎着演变成心酸，能否理智一点静静的睡一会，有些东西，想起来总是很美好的，于是在想象当然中，荒废了一场本来可以很开心的现实。

Happiness always can't escape the strangulation of time. If you want to reach out and catch something, you are struggling, hating and helpless. Time and again disappointed waiting, the result is a deepening of their hate! The tighter the grasp, the faster the loss, but do not dare to let go, the stronger the desire, the more disappointed. The struggle in missing evolves into heartache. Can you be rational and sleep quietly for a while? Some things are always beautiful when you think of them, so in the imagination of course, it abandons a reality that could have been very happy.

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情深缘浅，一丝牵念，颠倒几世尘染，似水落花，萦绕在谁的心田？恋恋前尘，是谁舞袖绝舞在奈何桥畔？是谁不醉繁华只醉君？是谁不为寂寞染指纤尘？是谁洗尽铅华为博君笑？万丈繁华撕成碎花，任由岁月舞起沧桑，素颜净心，轻舞眉扬。

Deep love, shallow edge, a trace of care, reversed several generations of dust, like water falling flowers, lingering in whose heart? Love the past, who is dancing at the Naihe bridge? Who is not drunk but drunk? Who doesn't touch the dust for loneliness? Who is smiling for Bo Jun? Ten thousand Zhang prosperous tear into broken flowers, let years dance from vicissitudes, plain face pure heart, light dance eyebrow Yang.

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夜深沉，梦依旧遥远，微醉微痴的在忽近忽远的幻觉中，感觉着你在温馨的追逐中享受着人间的美恋，像一束鲜花那样开放在阳光之中，一幕幕曾经清灵的图画勾勒成似歌如梦的意境，就像似一场罢刚开始之后的追忆一样清晰在目。

The night is deep, the dream is still far away, slightly drunk and slightly infatuated. In the illusion of near and far away, I feel that you are enjoying the beauty of the world in the warm pursuit, like a bunch of flowers in the sunshine. The scenes of pictures that once were clear and vivid are outlined as the artistic conception of songs and dreams, just like the memories after a strike.

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夜深了，喜欢一个人静静地思考，对于孤独和寂寞，好像早已经注定是习惯。装满心事的行囊里，往事随波逐流，如风卷来。曾多少次，无声地告诉自己，做着真实的自己，人生；没有回首和追忆，只有向着前行的路，迈步前行。充满渴望和憧憬，或许；梦想里的下一站，不一定很远。

Late at night, like a person quietly thinking, for loneliness and loneliness, as if already destined to be a habit. In the luggage full of worries, the past goes with the flow, like the wind. How many times have you told yourself silently that you are the real yourself and live a life; without looking back and recalling, you have to move forward. Full of desire and vision, perhaps; the next stop in the dream, not necessarily far away.

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