You asked me what I dreamt,
I had dreamt of soup.

I could have told you that,
but I couldn't tell you this:

I dreamed that we were staring at soup.
It was green and thicker than peas.
I was stirring my spoon in and out of the bowl,
picking up the lurking liquid
dripping it right back into the murky waters.

We were silent, but after some time,
you said "I love you."
I said it back very quickly and casually,
it was as if I had told you before!
So you said it louder, you exclaimed it even stronger,
"I LOVE YOU."

Noodles immediately floated to the surface of the soup.
The thickness cleared to spell out the three words that
I had been wanting to say, and wanting you to say.

I burst into tears.
I picked up the spoon.
I scooped up the letters and ate "I love you".