When he told me he was leaving I felt like a vase which has just smashed¹. There were pieces of me all over the tidy, tan tiles². 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 immune³; 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 omissions⁴ 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 uncertainty⁵ than have things finished. I laughed at myself. Imagine getting all philosophical⁶ and sentimental⁷ 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 haunt⁸ 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.

当迈克告诉我他要离我而去的时候，我感觉自己就像打碎了的花瓶一样。在淡褐色的小瓷砖上面化成无数的碎片。他不停的说着话，告诉我为何要离我而去，解释说是为了我着想，我应该能找到更好的，他离开我是他的不是，而不是应该归咎于我。我曾无数次听过他说这样的话而且对此已经不当回事了；也许有人会把男人这样始乱终弃的行为当回事。

他离开后，我尝试着自己一人去过活。我给水壶装满了水后就放到炉火上等着它烧开。我拿出了那件夕日曾用过的红色杯子，然后倒上咖啡，看着那许多咖啡碎末粒掉进骨瓷杯中。这就像我过去的人生一样，太多未曾被注意到的小颗粒中，不知怎么的，就冲成了那一杯咖啡。

当水壶烧开鸣笛示警的时候，我假装没有听到它忽忽的声音。这情景就像迈克离我而去那般，来的太突然，结果还另人不爽，我宁可徘徊在跟他不明不白的感情里面也比痛快的分手好的多。我自嘲而笑，由一杯咖啡而想起这么多有关哲学和感伤的东西，我一定是开始慢慢变老了。

然而在镜中却是一个年轻的女人对视着我。一个充满着承诺以及希望，有着明亮的大眼睛和饱满的嘴唇的年轻女人正等着在这世上呈现新的面貌。不管怎么说，我从未爱过迈克。而且还有更多事等着我去做。比爱情重要的多，我执意的要自己坚持下去。茶盖放回杯子上就好比我那所有关于迈克的往事有了个了断。

在我不安的那一夜晚里，他并不曾徘徊在我的梦中。相反的是，我高飞于田野和树林上面，俯视着眼底。突然我跌落下来，当我睡醒后我才意识到是被猎人所射落。不是被猎人的子弹所击中，倒是由他的身影所引起的心理恐惧而跌落。我后来意识到，在某种曾度的理解上，猎人就是迈克，是他影响到了我；而我就是那只渴望高飞的鸟儿。那夜过后我又曾梦到过相似的场景，只是没有了那个猎人。我无忧无虑的高飞直到我遇到了另一只鸟儿和我一起和谐翩飞。我有一些释怀，意识到外面世界里还有一只鸟儿在那里，即有那么一个人儿，他无须是我的爱人也许只是个朋友，但是肯定他是知我且懂我的人。我又想到了那个打碎了的花瓶而且意识到我自己已经把它给拈合到一起了，在尘世里面，所有关于迈克的经历只是我生命中的一小部分，他只是对我的外在有一些了解。他只不过是我所有生命中的一个过客而已。