当他告诉我他要离开的时候，我感觉自己就像花瓶裂成了碎片，跌落在茶色瓷砖地板上。他一直在
说话，解释着为什么要离开，说什么这是最好的，我可以做得更好，都是他的错，与我无关。虽然这些话我已经听上好几千遍了，可每次听完都让我很受伤，或许在
这样巨大的打击面前没有人能做到无动于衷。
他走了，我尝试着继续过自己的生活。我烧开水，拿出红色杯子，看着咖啡粉末一点点地落入骨灰瓷的杯子里。这正是我自己的鲜活写照，不断地往下掉咖啡粉末，却从来没有真正地泡成一杯咖啡。
水开了，水壶发出警报声，我假装没有听见。迈克的离去也是一样，突如其来，并且无可挽回。要知道，我宁愿忍受分与不分的煎熬，也不愿意以这样的方式被宣判“死刑”。想着想着我就哑然失笑，自己竟然为一杯咖啡有如此多的人生感怀，我自己一定是老了。
可是镜子里回瞪着我的那个女孩还是那么年轻啊！明目皓齿，充满了前途与希望，光明的未来在向她招手。没关系的，反正我也从来没有爱过迈克。何况，生命中还有比爱更重要的东西在等待着我，我对自己坚持说。我将咖啡罐的盖子盖好，也将所有关于迈克的记忆尘封起来。
那天晚上，出乎意料的是，他并没有入到我的梦中。在梦里，我飞过田野和森林，俯瞰着大地。突
然间，我掉了下来……醒来后才发现原来自己被猎人打中了，但是令我坠落的不是他的子弹，而是他的灵魂。我后来才渐渐明白，原来迈克就是那个使我坠落的猎
人，而我是那只渴望飞翔的小鸟。到了第二天晚上，我仍然做了类似的梦，但是猎人不见了，我一直在自由地飞翔，直到遇上另外一只小鸟和我比翼双飞。我开始意
识到，总有那么一只鸟，那么一个人在前面等我，这个人可能是我的爱人，可能只是朋友，但一定是知我懂我的人，这令我感觉如释重负。我想起曾经觉得自己像花
瓶一样裂开了，才意识到原来自己已经把自己修理好了。迈克只是我生命过程中的小小过客，他仅仅了解我的表面，他仅仅是我生命中的小小一部分。
When he told me he was leaving I felt like
a vase which has just smashed. There were pieces of me all over the
tidy, tan tiles. He kept talking, telling me why he was leaving,
explaining it was for the best, I could do better, it was his fault and
not mine. I had heard it before many times and yet somehow was still
not immune; perhaps one did not become immune to such felony.
He left and I tried to get on with my
life. I filled the kettle and put it on to boil, I took out my old red
mug and filled it with coffee watching as each coffee granule slipped
in to the bone china. That was what my life had been like, endless
omissions of coffee granules, somehow never managing to make that cup
of coffee.
Somehow when the kettle piped its
finishing warning I pretended not to hear it. That's what Mike's
leaving had been like, sudden and with an awful finality. I would
rather just wallow in uncertainty than have things finished. I laughed
at myself. Imagine getting all philosophical and sentimental about a
mug of coffee. I must be getting old.
And yet it was a young woman who stared
back at me from the mirror. A young woman full of promise and hope, a
young woman with bright eyes and full lips just waiting to take on the
world. I never loved Mike anyway. Besides there are more important
things. More important than love, I insist to myself firmly. The lid
goes back on the coffee just like closure on the whole Mike experience.
He doesn't haunt my dreams as I feared
that night. Instead I am flying far across fields and woods, looking
down on those below me. Suddenly I fall to the ground and it is only
when I wake up that I realize I was shot by a hunter, brought down by
the burden of not the bullet but the soul of the man who shot it. I
realize later, with some degree of understanding, that Mike was the
hunter holding me down and I am the bird that longs to fly. The next
night my dream is similar to the previous nights, but without the
hunter. I fly free until I meet another bird who flies with me in
perfect harmony. I realize with some relief that there is a bird out
there for me, there is another person, not necessarily a lover perhaps
just a friend, but there is someone out there who is my soul mate. I
think about being a broken vase again and realize that I have glued
myself back together, what Mike has is merely a little part of my time
in earth, a little understanding of my physical being. He has only, a
little piece of me.
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