A

She was assigned my other half.  After exchanging a plastic cup of milk tea, we were to become as close as lovers.

        But not even now can I understand her.

        She is slender; long straight hair tensely falls beside her face.  She talks with an awkward excitement, letting syllables slip quickly through her lips, and hangs the end of every sentence in the air with an inquiring gaze.  Her language is foreign to me, but in the fragments of sentiment that flow across, I sense her emotions run, wild and ferocious. 

        Weren't we supposed to be science people?

        I knew myself to be different in many respects – but she bewildered even me.

        She calls herself by the obscure name of an ancient Greek goddess. 

In her veins flow the thickest and deepest colored blood I’ve ever come to known; she reads heartbreaking poems, let them bleed her, and believes in them; She writes love stories, in which people love and despair intensely; Baudelaire's poetry had been locked to her soul, yet she still smiles, slightly fidgeting, and lives like a teenage girl.

        Her love life is a mystery to me.  We hug, but always like strangers.  I imagine she lived through difficult love affairs.  Already gave up her heart before commitment, and still aches, years after.

         I never did see through the curtain.  I wouldn’t understand, even if she answered.        What is this creature?

        Just when I thought I had outlined her bitter and delicate shape, I found out she doesn’t eat chocolate.

       

        Who doesn’t eat chocolate?