Ah-Yuan (Lin Wen-ching)

I grew up in a house where doors stayed closed and voices stayed low. My father’s dreams rusted in the garage next to his old typewriter; my mother cooked meals that tasted like unanswered questions. I learned to read the world in the pauses — a hand brushing mine on a bus, a friend’s laugh that cracked at the end. I collect these fragments like cigarette ashes, always wondering if they’ll ever form a whole. Love is a film reel I’ve never been brave enough to project.