The robin’s back again.
Same one
or at least that’s what I tell myself.
Gets close,
too close for a bird that small,
tilts its head like it’s clocking me,
then flies off
right when I start to believe it.
Not very subtle, Dad.
You always did have a way
of making a point
without saying it straight.
Like that time Mum ran over the lawnmower cable
exact thing you warned us about for years
and there it was again,
that same robin,
just sitting there,
watching it all play out
like,
“See? Told you.”
I clocked it.
I know it was you.
I say these things in prayer now.
Feels mad saying it out loud,
but up there
or wherever you are
I know you hear it.
Been thinking about you and
Uncle Bob lately.
He’s up there with you now.
Reckon you’ve found each other already,
no big reunion speech,
just that same quiet nod
you both always did.
That unspoken understanding
older men seem to have.
Like words were optional
once you’d lived enough.
Makes me wonder though
when you were younger,
did you ever say it all out loud?
Did you ever shout how you felt?
Or was it always that
South London thing,
keep it in,
keep it moving,
don’t let it show too much?
I wish I asked you that.
There’s a lot I wish I said properly.
Not in passing,
not half-joking,
not assuming there’d be time.
Things like
I see you in small moments.
In warnings that come true.
In birds that don’t act like birds.
In the way I catch myself
thinking like you
before I even realise it.
And I wanted you to know -
I noticed.
I’m still single.
Nearly 40 now.
And yeah, I think about it
about the way you and Mum had it.
Still have it.
That kind of love that don’t look flashy,
don’t need announcing,
just… stays.
Solid.
I always thought,
with this many people in the world,
every connection’s already rare.
But you two?
Different countries.
Different lives.
Seven thousand miles between you,
and still found a way.
A love letter sprayed with perfume.
A tenner hidden inside a letter like a joke
that meant more than money.
1983.
No WiFi.
No instant replies.
No “seen” receipts.
Just waiting.
Trusting.
Choosing each other
without all the noise.
And somehow
it lasted.
Meanwhile now,
we’ve got everything.
Fast messages,
video calls,
money sent in seconds
and still
people can’t hold onto anything.
Including me.
Funny, that.
I used to think love was easier now.
Turns out
it’s just louder.
More options,
less meaning.
I wonder what you’d say about it.
Probably something simple.
Something that sounds obvious
until you actually sit with it.
That was your way.
The robin’s still coming around,
you know.
Not every day.
Just enough.
Just when I need reminding
that something still carries on
even when it’s not in front of you.
I don’t say it out loud much.
But I’ve said it where it counts.
Everything I didn’t get to say
I’ve said it.
And I just hope
wherever you are,
you heard me properly.