Perhaps in another life, we can have dinner again

From my camera

Once again, we were having dinner, laughing about how exhausting, complicated, but fulfilling life is. My eyes were on him as he asked what meal to cook for tomorrow. My voice went silent just as I was about to reply. Suddenly, he was no longer there. We weren’t at the dinner table anymore.

Sometimes, I wish I had told you how, despite being tired at school, I enjoyed our dinner talks. They somehow eased the tiredness I always felt throughout the day. Sometimes, I wish I had told you just how incredibly funny your jokes are, or how endearingly silly you seemed when trying to bring joy to us. Sometimes, I wish I had told you how beautiful and calming your voice is, like sitting beside the ocean. Sometimes, I wish I had told you how good you are at playing the guitar. Sometimes, I wish I had told you how afraid I was of the dark. Sometimes, I wish I had told you how thankful I am that you knew my favorite food, when some parents don’t even know their daughter’s favorites. Sometimes, I wish I could have hugged you more. Sometimes, I wish I had told you that your kindness can light up the whole world. Sometimes, I wish I had gone to the hospital just to see you one more time. But most of all, I wish I could have told you how much you truly meant to me, how much I love you.

I was a selfish and inconsiderate child. I took the time we had left for granted, not knowing that every little moment was precious. I wish we had more time; then, perhaps, I could have told you how good dinner was.

Perhaps in another life, we can have dinner again.

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