I dreamed about you, 

I dreamed about you again.

It’s only five in the morning

and I have a river 

of uncontrollable tears 

flowing down my cheeks.

The dream felt like a movie,

like the effects they do in the movies.

You wrote me a handwritten book

in Chinese, my comfort language.

And have pictures of us, grandma, and you

spread out evenly throughout the book.

With my vision zoomed into the first paragraph,

you read in a gentle voice.

Wow… It’s so quiet…

But it would be more quiet

if one day I just leave 

you in this world… all by yourself,

sitting alone on this mat.

And you proceeded to take out the mat 

and sat down.

I don’t know if you meant 

to say it to grandma or me.

But it made me regret not 

calling you on Saturdays, 

and I know I still have time.

How could I want to avoid 

talking to the people who raised me?

To the people I spent five years

of my childhood with?

What if one day you left me,

just like you wrote in the book?

It would be quiet,

it would be very quiet.

What would I do if one day, 

I suddenly couldn’t call you anymore?

Would I regret from all the times 

that I could’ve called but didn’t?

I would…

But it’s all because of my biggest fear. 

My fear that once we start talking, 

we’re going to run out of topics to talk about.

I only want to keep the perfect memories of us,

memories of us together.

Just like how I want “us” to

be one of those marbles from

the movie, “Inside Out”

and just like how I want “us”

to only be one of those moments from those pictures.