I love writing letters – as you can see by the regular yet fictitious letters to stranger that I write. I adore receiving letters and postcards, but to be honest, it is seldom that I have anything surprising and interesting in my mail. *sigh*

Years ago, Paul wrote letters to his followers. I wish I could pull it off, and I receive one of his letters too. It was at the very beginning of me following any blogs on hereโ€”time flies.

Anyone wants to write me a letter? Anyone wants a letter from me? Just speak up in the comments.

This reminds me that I need to go to the post office. I need to send of four sets of my poetry books. One is left because they haven’t gotten in touch with their address.

*sigh* I think, I need some attention. xx

No regrets

I was asked if I regret certain moments from my life, and if I would want to change them. My answer has been the same for a long while now:

No regrets.

They trap us in the past, chain us

to an

illusion. They keep us from moving forward and being free

Regrets make us miserable

Every choice we make and every decision we make leads us to where we


with every action, we grow and with every connection too,

Good or bad – life is a chain of lessons.

No regrets.

This is the theory of the Butterfly Effect. Long before I even knew that my way of thinking has a label – a name, I lived by it. I would not change a thing about my life. Not even the worst ordeals I experienced. Everything shaped me to be the person I am today. But, I also admit that with this in mind, it can be hard to make choices. I tend to overthink and overanalyse most situations. How I react and what I do might always be logical or relatable for others, but it is for me.

This, of course, clashes with my statement that I am an impulsive writer, which I truly am. My poems are not sophisticated; they are not reworked and rewritten until every word has been changed a thousand times. No, I write the words that come to my mind and seldom go back to change them. Once in a while, I feel as if I wrote the same poem since 2015. It’s the same theme, the same words, just different days. But… Here too, no regrets.

No lifeline. Drowning in words that cut like a sword. Not okay. But what am I supposed to say? Words left a hole on my tongue; the right ones refuse to come…


And we are dancing under the pale moonlight, forgetting the world. The wind whispers songs into our ears, and the waves caress our naked feet. Your arms around my waist, my hands on your cold cheeks. And we are dancing under the moonlight, to the silent melodies of our hearts in tune. The moment is magic, and the stars witness its gravity. You are looking down at me, swaying my hips, I’m looking up at you, licking my lips. And we are dancing under the moonlight, alone in a crowd: a smile, a kiss, and this inexplicable blissโ€”a memory with meaning tattooed onto my blind mind. The sun pushes the moon away, making room for a new dawn. In the blink of an eye, and with a swallowed kiss, I realise that my hidden darkness left, it is gone. Huh!

Song for Midnight

Sourfish – Angel of My Eye https://open.spotify.com/track/2AyNYEZg2gikTb0lmjh4cx?si=opTvsM8TTGG90EtcYG9vwg

From the EP “What do you Say?” that was released in May this year.

I had this song stuck in my head for most of the day, now, I’m giving it to you.

Sourfish is the musical project of Scottish musician Gavin Simpson. He released several EPs, most of his music can be found on Spotify.

As most of you know, I am not a particular fan of podcasts. They often feel stretched out and are not interesting. I don’t like long monologues either. However, Gavin had a podcast called “What do you Say?” (Can be found on Spotify too) and I like his approach. He interviews artists but it never feels like an interview, it feels like a conversation between two friends. That’s appealing to me. New episodes are released each Thursday.



My stock is coming to an end and I decided to give away the last copies of my poetry collections. There were 5 of each this morning when I made the announcement on Twitter and Instagram. 3 sets are left right now. They are limited editions, meaning there are typos and minor formatting errors left, they are not in the version you can buy on Amazon. Every book comes signed and with a small handwritten note. I ship out worldwide*. Get in touch if you are interested in owning poetry written by a Luxembourgish poet.

*There are copies of my books all over the world:

Brazil ๐Ÿ‡ง๐Ÿ‡ท

US ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ธ

UK ๐Ÿ‡ฌ๐Ÿ‡ง

Wales ๐Ÿด๓ ง๓ ข๓ ท๓ ฌ๓ ณ๓ ฟ

Ireland ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ช

Canada ๐Ÿ‡จ๐Ÿ‡ฆ

Australia ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ

New Zealand ๐Ÿ‡ณ๐Ÿ‡ฟ

South Africa ๐Ÿ‡ฟ๐Ÿ‡ฆ

Germany ๐Ÿ‡ฉ๐Ÿ‡ช

France ๐Ÿ‡ซ๐Ÿ‡ท

Belgium ๐Ÿ‡ง๐Ÿ‡ช

Netherlands ๐Ÿ‡ณ๐Ÿ‡ฑ

Luxembourg ๐Ÿ‡ฑ๐Ÿ‡บ

And the handful of books I sold via Amazon.

Be a part of this first-ever Giveaway!

Get in touch by writing a comment here or by sending an email to catherine.micqu@gmail.com

First come, first served. Or as we say in Luxembourg: Deen รฉischten ass fir.


Once in a while, there are these surveys online, asking which musician is missed the most or which loss we grieved the most. And there are plenty who come to my mind.

But you know what? Only one’s story of life and death always brings me to tears. Always, without fail.

Freddy Mercury.

Tonight there was a documentary (truthfully, it was only a segment) about Rudi Dolezal on German television. Rudi was the director was many Queen video clips and a friend of the band. He has a lot to say about Freddy, but always respectfully and lovingly. And what strikes me most in every documentary about Queen and Freddy Mercury is his love and lust for life. He was not done yet, there was more in him, and we will never see it. (Maybe there was no creativity left in him, but somehow, I doubt that and we will never know the truth). Paired with “The Show Must Go On” and snippets from the clip for “These Are The Days”, I cannot stop the tears from falling. It gets to me every time. Pathetic, really, seeing that I never was a big Queen fan. They have great songs, outstanding and brilliant ones. But they have also those that are way above my head.

I am no sure what makes me this emotional when I see documentaries about Freddy Mercury but… There you have it. I am a sensitive woman.

As if nothing ever happend

And after July 15th Corona does not exist anymore. At least, it feels like it here in Luxembourg. Everything will be back to normal. As if there is no pandemic claiming lives world-wide.

To be honest, our government react quite greatly during this pandemic. I trusted them a lot. But it is the way out that is weird and incoherent. Masks, no masks. No full schools, but full schools for the remaining last two weeks of the school year. No contact sports – no ballet. But rugby is okay. (And after June 29th, every sport is allowed again). Restaurants and pubs are open and next week cinemas will be opened for guests too. Borders are opened and we are allowed to travel again.

It seems as if corona is eradicated during the summer months. We will see how that plays out in September.

Are there dates when lockdown will ease at your place? (or has it already?)

I had my first test (mandatory because of work) last Wednesday. It was negative. Ever since, my throat hurts, and I feel exhausted. It might be a coincidence. I will have to get tested once every two weeks. And really, my gag reflex is not amused. It really isn’t. My gag reflex is too sensitive for that swab. (Tmi… Or not?!?)

Loudest silence

I don’t want to wake up and see that

The monsters left their shadows

On my heart.

I am fighting to wipe the dark off my path, but

Blood is paving the walls of my mind;

Every day is filled with night.

And I am suffering more than you are;

I drown in my fears –

In the halves that are left of me.

In my dreams I remember; forgetting

who left these tattoos on my thoughts.

And I try and I try and I try but

I still feel the miracle of your kisses.

Silent moments moved on with the rivers and the sands

As the sun rises behind the clouds

I am not freezing in July –

Not anymore. I didn’t realise it but, the

Faded light returned to me.

Covered in hope, ready for the next song.