Erosion of Memories

I'm walking down a road–no place, no purpose, no reason.
And then, like a child, I break down and start sobbing.
I want to see my mom.
Mom, I miss you so much.

I wake up, tears still streaming down my face. It was just a dream.

If it’s a dream,why can’t we just laugh together, or talk, or spend time like we used to?
But even in dreams, I'm just crying endlessly, wising I could see mom.

Now, all I have are videos and photos—flat, lifeless memories.
I can't remember her as a three dimensional person anymore.

You had dementia, and in the end, you couldn’t remember your beloved daughter.
But with your pale, delicate hands, you held mine tightly. That touch—so firm, so full of feeling—remains vivid in my memory, as if it happened just yesterday.