That child sat at the very back of the classroom.Her hair always smelled of grass.I could not say anything,only covered my hands with chalk dust.When she passed by, a wind rose,and the pages of my book turned by themselves.
We never once held hands.We never shared an umbrella.Even so, I still rememberthe fine down at the nape of her neck.When raindrops tapped the classroom window,I looked only at her.
One day she transferred to another school.When I heard the news, I went out to the playground.Squatting behind the soccer goal,I took one candy from my pocket.It was the one she had oncesecretly left on my desk.
Her face is blurred now.But the sweetness is still on my tongue.I write her a letter:Do you know what flavor that candy was?I will never send this letter,but the person receiving it will probably know.
