Catherine Micqu

I’m tired and pensive…

I am replaceable. My words are replaceable. Forgettable.
The love I share and give willingly is not.
I am replaceable. We all are. Which is good.
That doesn’t mean that we/I don’t leave holes and gapes and imprints on soul that will last longer than we/I do.

I always thought that I don’t want to be replaceable or forgettable. I never wanted to be one in a million, not even one of the few. I wanted to stand out and be special. I never did anything to deserve that though. That doesn’t mean that I am not standing out and that I am not someone special for someone else. And even if I am forgotten, isn’t it more important that the love I gave isn’t? Isn’t it more important that I touched three or four souls instead of hundreds or thousands? And will I ever know how many people truly read my words, my poems, my letters; how many are touched and changed? The answer is No. Because I will be forgotten and all that will be left of me are words on paper or screens. A thought. A touch. A shared moment. A memory. Maybe even a name. Most importantly, a feeling. An emotion that was stirred.

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