I didn’t leave; I simply let him go. That summer, I discovered someone else’s breasts in his exhibition. Those frames should have been filled with mine, but there they were—unexpectedly, a pair slightly smaller. The owner of those breasts showed up at the gallery. I hosted her. We both knew exactly who the other was from the very first second, even though we were total strangers. We sat down and talked, sipping coffee together. My cup remained unfinished until the very end. After that, I left him. But I still dream of us eating together, just like we used to. I didn’t leave; I simply let him go. Eucalyptus was the fish we raised together, a gift for my birthday. What I had actually wanted was a goldfish, but he only remembered the "fish" part. After he left, I bought another one—a little scrap named "Garbage"—to keep Eucalyptus company. I’m not sure if he'll see this show, but I believe those who do are the ones who have once been in pieces. Ning Chou, Spring 2019