It’s at night that I think of you

It’s at night that I think of you, as the day robs me of my time to reflect. In this tiny fragment of free time in the day, I decide to write about you. I still miss you; I guess I always will. For the first time, the departure has saddened me so.

It’s at night that I think of you. It will hit me as a sudden revelation that you are not here anymore. Then comes a moment of acceptance, and I think of the 21 years I had with you.

I think of your modest laughter when I say something funny; your benevolent face; the yummy dishes that you used to cook for me. I have not found a substitute for your braised threadfin with ginger – it blew my young, impressionable mind away.

It’s at night that I think of you. I re-live moments; your smell, musky and familiar; your voice, how you call my pet name. I imagine; of how you held me in your arms as a baby. If there was a point in time where I want to go back to the past, I will go back to when I was with you and Lao Chek at the old flat.

It’s at night that I think of you.