She doesn’t know she saves me— with every skip, every curious sigh, with the way she speaks to clouds as if they’ll answer.
She finds the sparkle in my silence, coaxes out the mischief in my eyes, reminds me I was once a girl who believed in wonder and danced before the world could hurt her.
Her laughter is a time machine— I am twelve again, barefoot in the garden, daring the wind to catch me.
She is not just my niece— She is the echo of who I was, and the whisper of who I still am.