I dreamt about you last night. Finally. I was starting to think it was never going to happen. But I crawled into bed after my long, endless day of travel, and there you were, on the other side of my closed eyelids.

We were being silly, of course. As we always were. We had matching silky, long-sleeve pyjamas on that were too big for both of us. Blue with pink, and pink with blue. They had stripes, or polka dots, or squiggly lines on. I can’t remember. I’m missing a lot of details. But I know for a fact that was you.

And we were trying to take pictures in your childhood home next to your mother’s dining table, the same way we had done all those years ago. Remember? But I was so anxious this time. 10 minutes, I kept thinking. You had to go in ten minutes. But you were so carefree, laughing and saying, it’s okay, we can try again. Setting up the camera and posing. I kept thinking, none of these pictures seem right. They are all too rushed. It’s too soon, I thought.

And then I asked you – and that’s the one thing I remember clearly from your visit to me in my sleep – “aren’t you scared about leaving?”

And you laughed your carefree laugh and said,

“Not at all.”