坦白地講，她並談不上漂亮，也沒一點與眾不同的地方。 她衣著平常，腦後的頭髮仍可以看到睡眠時壓過的痕跡。 她已經不年輕，或者說已經有三十歲更確切些，稱之謂 “ 女孩 ” 不免有些牽強。 但是，我佇立在距離她有五十碼遠的地方， 就已經很確切的知道：她就是我的百分百女孩。 當她一出現在我的視線之中，我的心臟開始撲通撲通熱烈地跳動，我的嘴唇變得異常的干渴，彷彿突然置身於萬里黃沙之間。 或許你也有自己特別欣賞的女孩子也說不定：女孩盈盈一握的足踝，獨特的說話方式，大大的眼睛，或者宛若春蔥的修長手指，要不就是你被一個每餐不知為何定要淺斟慢飲的女孩所吸引。 當然，我也有自己的百分百女孩標準。 我曾經就為臨桌的一個女孩所傾倒，深深迷戀於她優美的鼻型。 但是想要把心目中的百分百女孩形象完全顯像於腦海之中，這是任何人都無法做到的。 比如我，就無法回想起那個女孩子鼻型，或者甚至是她根本沒有鼻子也說不定。 我唯一可記住的便是她並不是頂漂亮。 事情真是不可思議。
「昨天我在街上遇到了一個百分百女孩。」我這樣告訴某人。 『是嗎？ 』他說，『長得可漂亮？ 』 「不，一點不。」 『那定是你喜歡的那一種類型的了？ 』 「不知道，我一點也記不得關於她的任何細節， ―― 比如她眼睛的形狀，或者她胸部的大小。」 『莫名奇妙！ 』 「是呀，莫名其妙！」 『總之，』他覺得無趣之極， 『那你到底做了什麼？ 和她搭話，亦或是跟踪她了？ 』 「根本不，我只是在街上和她擦肩而過。」 她從東來，我自西往。 就在一個美麗的四月早上。 我想同她聊聊， 30 分鐘也已經足夠了：我只是想了解她的身世，也告訴她我的遭遇，還有我最想的便是向她解釋清楚在 1981 年這個美麗的四月清晨我同她在新宿街頭相逢皆因命運的安排。 就如同一個寧靜世界里古老鐘充滿著溫馨的秘密。 傾談完畢，我和她在某個地方共進午餐，後也許再一同去看場伍迪 · 愛倫的電影也說不定，或者駐步某家酒店共飲雞尾美酒也未可知。 如果她高興，也許我們還可在床上做場鴛鴦夢。 命運的不可知性就這樣輕叩著我的心扉。 此時我和她的距離已不過是十五碼之遙。 可是我該如何走近她，又該對她說些什麼 ? 「早上好，小姐。是否你 願意談談，只需 30 分鐘。」笑死人，我豈不成了推銷保單的推銷員。 「請問，這一帶有２４小時營業的洗衣店嗎？」不行，這樣也太過傻氣了。 何況我沒有帶洗衣袋，誰會相信我的話呢？ 或者直截了當的道出真相：「早上好，你就是我的百分百女孩！」
咳，她是不相信我的，即使她相信了我，她也未必會同我交談。 她也許會說：我興許是你的百分百女孩，不過抱歉的是可你並不是我的百分百男孩。 這是極有可能的，一但我陷入這種困境中，我勢必會墜入幾欲分崩離析的生活裡去。 因此而變得一蹶不振。 我已３２歲，成熟便是這麼讓人變得小心翼翼。 我們在一家花店前擦肩而過。 一陣暖暖的微風輕觸我的肌膚。 街面上的瀝青濕轆轆的，空氣裡蕩漾著玫瑰花香。 我終於沒有對她說些什麼。 她穿著一件白色線衫，右手握著一個沒有貼郵票的信封。 這裡面一定是她寫給某人的一封信。 也許她花了一個通宵的時間，看著她睡眼朦朧便可知曉。 興許這封信包含著她所有的秘密也未可知。 我大步向前，然後回頭，她業已消失在人海中。 不過到了現在，我已經很清楚的知道當時該對她說些什麼。 那會是很長的一段告白，以致於我絕對沒有可能把它表述清楚。 我的那些想法注定是虛無縹緲。 嗯，總之，它將以「很久很久以前」為始，又必以「你不認為這是個憂傷的故事嗎？」為終。
很久很久以前，某一個地方住著一對男孩和女孩，男孩正值十八年少，女孩也不過是二八青春。 他不見得如何的英俊，她也並非特別的美麗動人。 就是很常見孤獨著的男孩女孩罷了。 但是他們堅信在這世屆上的某個地方一定有個百分百的男孩和女孩等待著的而且確，他們相信這個奇蹟，而且這個奇蹟發生了。 某一天男孩和女孩相逢在某條街的拐角。 「難以置信！」他開口，「我用盡一生的時間來尋找著你。也許你不相信這一切，但的而且確你就是我的百分百女孩。」 『我和你感覺一樣，』她對他說，『你就是我的百分百男孩，我能夠完完全全的勾勒出你的每一個細節，這一切就像一場夢！ 』 他們坐在公園的長椅上，手挽著手互述衷腸，一分一秒。 他們從此不再孤獨。 他們找到百分百的彼此，同時也被彼此找到。 這是多麼神奇，這是一個奇蹟，宇宙創造的奇蹟。 就在他們交談時，在心裡卻有著極小的困惑煩擾著自己：難道夢想真的就如此容易成真不成？ 就這樣，在一個短暫的停頓之後，男孩說：「讓我們做一個實驗吧 ―― 就一次即可。如果我們真的是彼此的百分百愛人，那麼在某一天某一處我們會再次相遇。如果那時候我們的感覺未變，我們便可證明的確是彼此的百分百。那時候我們就立刻在那個地方結婚，你同意嗎？」 『好！ 』她說，『我們應該這樣做。 』 於是他倆分手了，她繼續東行，他依舊西遊。 其實他們的作出的這個測試決定是完全沒有必要的。 可是他們永遠都不會知道自己犯了一個錯誤。 因為他們的確是彼此的百分百愛人，並且他們可以相遇確實是一個奇蹟。 但對於他們而言，明白這一切是不可能的，他們畢竟太年輕。 就這樣命運開始無情的作弄起他們兩個人。 某年冬天，男孩女孩同時患上了恐怖的流感，在生死之間掙扎了好幾個星期的他們已經忘記了當年的一切。 當他們醒來，腦中空空如少年時代的 DH 勞倫斯儲錢罐。 他們畢竟是如此聰明，且毅力非凡，經過不懈努力，終於找回了可以重返社會的知識和情感。 感謝上帝，他們又可以乘坐地鐵，發送快信，成了合格的社會的人。 當然，他們又開始體驗愛情，有時也會遇到 75% 甚至是 85% 的愛情。 時光流失快得讓人覺得恐怖，很快男孩已經 32 歲，女孩 30 歲。 四月一個美麗的早上，男孩為了購買一個咖啡杯順著新宿臨街自西向東走，同時女孩為了寄一封特快郵件，亦正自東向西而來。 他們在街角擦肩而過， 失去的記憶仍殘留的微光在那瞬間在兩人心頭閃耀了一下。 兩人的心裡俱是一震，隨即他們明白了： 她是我的百分百女孩，他是我的百分百男孩。 然而這光亮終究是太過微弱，他們的想法也比十四年前變得模糊了許多。 沒有說一句話，他們就擦肩而過，消失在人海裡，永遠。
你不認為這是個憂傷的故事嗎？ 是的，就是它，這便是我想對她說的那段長長的告白。
「昨天我在街上遇到了一個百分百女孩。」我這樣告訴某人。 『是嗎？ 』他說，『長得可漂亮？ 』 「不，一點不。」 『那定是你喜歡的那一種類型的了？ 』 「不知道，我一點也記不得關於她的任何細節， ―― 比如她眼睛的形狀，或者她胸部的大小。」 『莫名奇妙！ 』 「是呀，莫名其妙！」 『總之，』他覺得無趣之極， 『那你到底做了什麼？ 和她搭話，亦或是跟踪她了？ 』 「根本不，我只是在街上和她擦肩而過。」 她從東來，我自西往。 就在一個美麗的四月早上。 我想同她聊聊， 30 分鐘也已經足夠了：我只是想了解她的身世，也告訴她我的遭遇，還有我最想的便是向她解釋清楚在 1981 年這個美麗的四月清晨我同她在新宿街頭相逢皆因命運的安排。 就如同一個寧靜世界里古老鐘充滿著溫馨的秘密。 傾談完畢，我和她在某個地方共進午餐，後也許再一同去看場伍迪 · 愛倫的電影也說不定，或者駐步某家酒店共飲雞尾美酒也未可知。 如果她高興，也許我們還可在床上做場鴛鴦夢。 命運的不可知性就這樣輕叩著我的心扉。 此時我和她的距離已不過是十五碼之遙。 可是我該如何走近她，又該對她說些什麼 ? 「早上好，小姐。是否你 願意談談，只需 30 分鐘。」笑死人，我豈不成了推銷保單的推銷員。 「請問，這一帶有２４小時營業的洗衣店嗎？」不行，這樣也太過傻氣了。 何況我沒有帶洗衣袋，誰會相信我的話呢？ 或者直截了當的道出真相：「早上好，你就是我的百分百女孩！」
咳，她是不相信我的，即使她相信了我，她也未必會同我交談。 她也許會說：我興許是你的百分百女孩，不過抱歉的是可你並不是我的百分百男孩。 這是極有可能的，一但我陷入這種困境中，我勢必會墜入幾欲分崩離析的生活裡去。 因此而變得一蹶不振。 我已３２歲，成熟便是這麼讓人變得小心翼翼。 我們在一家花店前擦肩而過。 一陣暖暖的微風輕觸我的肌膚。 街面上的瀝青濕轆轆的，空氣裡蕩漾著玫瑰花香。 我終於沒有對她說些什麼。 她穿著一件白色線衫，右手握著一個沒有貼郵票的信封。 這裡面一定是她寫給某人的一封信。 也許她花了一個通宵的時間，看著她睡眼朦朧便可知曉。 興許這封信包含著她所有的秘密也未可知。 我大步向前，然後回頭，她業已消失在人海中。 不過到了現在，我已經很清楚的知道當時該對她說些什麼。 那會是很長的一段告白，以致於我絕對沒有可能把它表述清楚。 我的那些想法注定是虛無縹緲。 嗯，總之，它將以「很久很久以前」為始，又必以「你不認為這是個憂傷的故事嗎？」為終。
很久很久以前，某一個地方住著一對男孩和女孩，男孩正值十八年少，女孩也不過是二八青春。 他不見得如何的英俊，她也並非特別的美麗動人。 就是很常見孤獨著的男孩女孩罷了。 但是他們堅信在這世屆上的某個地方一定有個百分百的男孩和女孩等待著的而且確，他們相信這個奇蹟，而且這個奇蹟發生了。 某一天男孩和女孩相逢在某條街的拐角。 「難以置信！」他開口，「我用盡一生的時間來尋找著你。也許你不相信這一切，但的而且確你就是我的百分百女孩。」 『我和你感覺一樣，』她對他說，『你就是我的百分百男孩，我能夠完完全全的勾勒出你的每一個細節，這一切就像一場夢！ 』 他們坐在公園的長椅上，手挽著手互述衷腸，一分一秒。 他們從此不再孤獨。 他們找到百分百的彼此，同時也被彼此找到。 這是多麼神奇，這是一個奇蹟，宇宙創造的奇蹟。 就在他們交談時，在心裡卻有著極小的困惑煩擾著自己：難道夢想真的就如此容易成真不成？ 就這樣，在一個短暫的停頓之後，男孩說：「讓我們做一個實驗吧 ―― 就一次即可。如果我們真的是彼此的百分百愛人，那麼在某一天某一處我們會再次相遇。如果那時候我們的感覺未變，我們便可證明的確是彼此的百分百。那時候我們就立刻在那個地方結婚，你同意嗎？」 『好！ 』她說，『我們應該這樣做。 』 於是他倆分手了，她繼續東行，他依舊西遊。 其實他們的作出的這個測試決定是完全沒有必要的。 可是他們永遠都不會知道自己犯了一個錯誤。 因為他們的確是彼此的百分百愛人，並且他們可以相遇確實是一個奇蹟。 但對於他們而言，明白這一切是不可能的，他們畢竟太年輕。 就這樣命運開始無情的作弄起他們兩個人。 某年冬天，男孩女孩同時患上了恐怖的流感，在生死之間掙扎了好幾個星期的他們已經忘記了當年的一切。 當他們醒來，腦中空空如少年時代的 DH 勞倫斯儲錢罐。 他們畢竟是如此聰明，且毅力非凡，經過不懈努力，終於找回了可以重返社會的知識和情感。 感謝上帝，他們又可以乘坐地鐵，發送快信，成了合格的社會的人。 當然，他們又開始體驗愛情，有時也會遇到 75% 甚至是 85% 的愛情。 時光流失快得讓人覺得恐怖，很快男孩已經 32 歲，女孩 30 歲。 四月一個美麗的早上，男孩為了購買一個咖啡杯順著新宿臨街自西向東走，同時女孩為了寄一封特快郵件，亦正自東向西而來。 他們在街角擦肩而過， 失去的記憶仍殘留的微光在那瞬間在兩人心頭閃耀了一下。 兩人的心裡俱是一震，隨即他們明白了： 她是我的百分百女孩，他是我的百分百男孩。 然而這光亮終究是太過微弱，他們的想法也比十四年前變得模糊了許多。 沒有說一句話，他們就擦肩而過，消失在人海裡，永遠。
你不認為這是個憂傷的故事嗎？ 是的，就是它，這便是我想對她說的那段長長的告白。
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences , of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail . And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young DH Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences , of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail . And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young DH Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
The English Vision
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