#40 - Hello Poetry

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.

0

Apr 22

Apr 22, 2026 at 8:43 PM UTC

Mahayag

Not Very Subtle, Dad

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.