Are you there? Do you still remember my name?

There is a space between here and there,

a fragile veil where the living and the lost touch fingers.

I wonder if you are there,

just beyond the fabric of this world,

watching, waiting, whispering my name.

I have dreamed of you in places I cannot name,

and woken with the taste of grief on my tongue,

nowhere to cave.

Oh, how I wish I could call you once again.

_____

But you remain,

not in flesh, not in shadow even,

but in the spaces I cannot see.

_____

Dear Uncle Paul,

you saw me when I was still so young,

when no one else would cling to the edges of my small world.

You saw something—

but I never got to ask what it was.

_____

Six-year-old me, crying alone

in the back of the house,

holding your obituary card to my chest—

my early morning ritual.

You were flawless in every way.

If you were still here, would you be proud?

______

Would you like that I am no longer

the shy, quiet girl I used to be?

Or would I be too much,

too loud, a spectacle

that makes you miss the little girl

with no one but you to cradle?

____

You bought me my first phone.

I never really called.

Mummy took it away most times,

and when I had it, I only played games.

I wish I had called.

I wish I had given you more credit

for the love you showed a little girl who felt like she had no one.

But I was too small to realise what I had.

How I wish you had stayed longer.

_____

I haven’t met anyone like you—

someone who truly believed in me,

not just with words but with actions.

What did you see in me?

I guess I’ll never know.

_____

But I hold you close.

Oh, of all the people I’ve lost,

yours cuts the deepest.

____

And still, I wonder—

are you there,

beyond the veil,

watching, waiting, whispering my name?

Oh to hear you call my name

One more time.

Do you still remember my name