湖心的爱情诗

清晨的湖面格外寂静，只有微风轻轻拂过，远处传来几声清脆的鸟鸣。我 standing on the shore, my heart beating as fast as the waves around me. I was not a divisor in this serene moment; I was simply an observer of life, a silent witness to its delicate dance. It wasn't my fault that I missed those distant thoughts—this place holds so much in common with me.

As the sun begins to set, the water reflects the sky in the soft light, casting a perfect ellipse on the surface. The air is cool and crisp, yet the breeze still lingers, lingering behind me. This moment of quiet reflection has been a constant reminder of what I am—a slow, deliberate observer.

Her approaching hand shimmers, her presence a gentle nudge against my shore, but not enough to shift the weight of the world around me. She is not a divisor either; she is a mirror, reflecting my inner beauty in a way that only nature can comprehend.

"But wait, you're not here," she says, her voice steady despite the softening hum from their feet below, "just to see how much of this silence you can make me feel. You are just here too." It's been hours since we last spoke—time that hasn't seen a seashell crack against my window, nor a blade of grass break through the leaves on the shore.

Yet the weight of our words is not to be ignored; it's a force too big to hold back. She rests her head on the stone, her face down over the crystal-clear waters, as if she's waiting for something to open. But what does that something hold? Nothing—just herself, and the quietness within.

Her hands are steady, their fingers moving with precision. As she shifts, each finger lands gently on a wave or a stone, her presence as still as the water itself. She is not only here; she is everywhere, a ripple in the never-ending sea of silence that fills the horizon. That's exactly what this lake does to me too—make every moment feel like a ripple, and I can see myself drifting alongside her, the soft currents carrying us closer than ever.

As we move forward together, each step feels like an extension of our shared silence. We are not divisors in nature or literature—it's us who make this world so much more perfect.

"I am not here," she continues, her voice steady despite the softening hum from their feet below, "but I am here too." It is only these words that have shifted our balance—only these thoughts that have brought us together. The silence has become alive with the sound of our hearts, merging into a single, ethereal wave that flows through all space and time.

As we walk along the shore, each step feels so slow—it's like a dance between two worlds—a silent reflection in the glass, or a living mirror reflecting back to me. These are the words that have made this moment such a fragile moment—for both of us, for nature, and for time.

"But wait, you're not here," she says again, her voice steady despite the softening hum from their feet below, "just to see how much of this silence you can make me feel. You are just here too." It's been hours since we last spoke—time that hasn't seen a seashell crack against my window, nor a blade of grass break through the leaves on the shore.

Yet the weight of our words is not to be ignored; it's a force too big to hold back. She rests her head on the stone, her face down over the crystal-clear waters, as if she's waiting for something to open. But what does that something hold? Nothing—only herself, and the quietness within.

Her hands are steady, their fingers moving with precision. As she shifts, each finger lands gently on a wave or a stone, her presence as still as the water itself. She is not only here; she is everywhere, a ripple in the never-ending sea of silence that fills the horizon. That's exactly what this lake does to me too—make every moment feel like a ripple, and I can see myself drifting alongside her, the soft currents carrying us closer than ever.