Love Is Only Your Own Affair

For most of the time, you posses nothing but your beauty and fantasy. You are your parents’ child, you classmates’ classmate and your colleague’s colleague. You own but a desk in your office. You are but a pretty figure in your class. You are not allowed to keep your bedroom door closed for too long. Or it could be worse that you all you have in your home is a bed.

You cannot choose to sit under a window closer to the moon. You cannot choose the dull history teacher. He made the delicate, profound history into a sleepy fly buzz. You cannot choose your worldly colleague. You drag along reluctantly just because she will mess your silence up.

Your wish is your only redemption.

Constantly changing fashion makes you feel nothing real: The prettiest clothes are always hanging in the shop window. It changes into a more luring style after you bought it. You don't finish half of the papers, not because you dislike those fancy cars, houses, computers and ornaments. It is just because you don’t know when they will belong to you.
The pressure of material possessions makes you be conscious your innocence, but there is no way to speak out it. You feel vulgar when you longing too much for materials. So there is only one narrow pathway for your wish: your beauty and your fantasy. You are so into your beauty and your fantasy, because of your loneliness and restless. You use your time to wait for the day that your pure love meets the pure you.

You fill your empty space up by your fantasy. You love goes astray before it comes. It is the misty eyes of Leslie Cheung. It is the dreamy voice of Faye Wong. It is the dialogue of the movies everything that touches you all stays in your memory. You long for another deeper wake-up. In your subconscious, it is your love.

You are easily being moved. You are so near the break out point. A true love begins! He is a man that not far from you. You love him because you are moved by his tenderness?

No, you are not. Probably because he has a figure, a gesture, a glimpse so near that you sense his existence. So you keep falling, torturing by the distance and waiting, and giving your love and beauty. You aware nothing about the result, except for you are nothing. Because you gave him all you had, almost like a sacrifice.


It is predestined that you don’t have a happy ending. None of the ending is the perfection you need. You will blame yourself if you give up. And you will hold on---You will found love is like your fantasy sooner or later.

As you see, love is just a story of growing-up, a fair of you own, and a beautiful fantasy. It grows up like an apple tree, but has a shelf life as the tinned pineapple. It is not like your fantasy, and it is beautiful.
(Chinese version by 记忆碎片)