She is in the classroom, alone, wearing a white shirt with blue strips. The fringe of her shirt is tucked in her black trousers, which makes her legs longer. Her black leather shoes enhance this impression.

As I sit down in the chair, I noticed her name on the name badge sticked to her shirt. Sue. Is Sue for Susanna? Susanna sounds so feminine. Sue suits her better. I thought secretly.

Her hair is blond on the surface, and darker in the root. She has very short hair, but the fringe is rather long and a little bit curled up, perhaps with the help of fixature, just like what selfie boys like to do.

Her dark brown framed eye glasses have a dimetric shape, which adds another air of masculinity. I look at her eyes when she stands in from of me, talking like a lecturer.

I am attracted by her. An evil thought blinks in my chaotic mind.  I am not unfamiliar with this secret feeling for a girl. All these thoughts just flow in my mind. Is she a lesbian? She looks like one. She must be one. Look how she looks when she talks, how she chose to dress herself, how her every single gesture and pose hint.

She sits one metre away from me. The distance is so unbridgeable. Our acquaintance is so formal.

Another three students come into the classroom. She asks us to sit down in the chair, forming a semi-circle. She sits in front of the semi-circle, facing us. She talks very fast, and her intonation flows smoothly, which is difficult for me, as a second language speaker to follow.

As she talks, my sidelong glance notices her humble breasts between the gaps of our eye contacts. The only thing I can make sure of is that how I like the way she dressed herself, how I am obsessed with her short and boyish hair, and how I am touched by her every single gesture and movement.

She walks around in the room, with one hand in the pocket of her black trousers. She turns around, her head bending down, engrossed in thinking. The other hand stops in the air for a second. Then suddenly as she turns, the hand drops down. I know she have got an idea in her mind.

She asks the students to share their behaviour of procrastination. The boy with dark skin says he would tell himself that he will do it tomorrow. The Chinese girl says she would tell herself just postpone the work another five minutes. The girl in blue shirt and dark skin, wearing large butterfly-shaped earrings says, she always justifies herself that maybe other people are also procrastinating. I says I talk too much with my partner.

When I say this, I find nothing changes in her face. Of course! I am only a stranger to her. A completely stranger! How I wish I could read her mind!

She says when she procrastinates, she bites her nails. Dark skinned girl Jessica says she bites too. The two share something in common! How I envy Jessica! Why I never have the weird habit to bite my nails?! Thinking about biting nails makes me feel creepy, just like the uncomfortableness caused by pencil scratching on a piece of paper. But… but she bites, how special she is!

She puts her finger on her lips to show how she normally does this kind of thing. A common thing to do in classroom, to make the students feel less boring. When she pretends to bite her nails, and then puts her long arms beside her ankles, how cute and lovely she is!

She does not smile a lot, unless she feels the students need to be encouraged and cheered up. Most of the time, her expression is a little bit solemn, and rather attentive.
I feel I can not concentrate on what she is talking about. I have to observe her face, the subtle changes of her expression, her facial muscle, her eyes when she speaks. I sink into the chair, in the corner, observing her. All my energies and enthusiasms have gone to my highly active mind.

She stands up, and writes something on the board. She then does not return to her seat, but leaning on the desk, facing me directly. My heart cheers up. Does she wants to be closer to me?

Three hours is soon over. We have to part, as strangers. What can I do? Am I not that Prufrock, only capable of asking himself do I dare, do I dare, but never have the guts to eat the peach? I hear the mermaids singing, but I only drown in a sea of silence.

At night, before go to bed, I prepare myself to dream about her. Having this idea in mind, I feel great eager to fall asleep. Will she walk to me in my dreams? Or am I brave enough to talk to her? But when I open my eyes the next day, recalling my experience last night, I realise she was not there. Nothing happens in my dream, just like everything is nil in reality.
My mind is full of her face, her gesture, her white-blue shirt, her black trousers, her dark glasses. When I think of her, a strong longing swells in my heart, like the tide in a full moon night. Vainly, but beautifully.

On the third day after I met her, I searched for her on FaceBook. Lucky for me. I found some photos posted on her main page. Not so many, all with her friends. But that is enough to fill my little heart with content. She smiles on all the photos, with several female friends.

I begin to wonder, what a person would she be in normal occasions? Is she easy going and approachable? Or is she as serious as what she looks now? What kinds of people are her closest friends? Would she hug them when she is happy? Would she sometimes feel sad and depressed? Would she joke with her friends playfully?

I am dreaming again! I know that. I know fantasy is of no good. But that at least makes me close to her.






















You think you can have one

In this life or next

You think you can find the eye

That feels lost when looking the other side

When holding this person in your arms

Your similes may deceive you

Behind his back

Another apparition’s breathing

He may say that they are just common friends

He may even be angry for your misconceptions

But who knows what is the true look of all the relationships


















耳边的Don’t you cry tonight赶对了时间。回过神来,用纸巾拭干,爬上床去,在梦里遗忘过去将来。