I hate the feeling that people are actually dispensable.

Sure, no one is exactly the same as someone else. You will never find the same combination of psycho and knight-in-shining armour charm that he has. The same combination of shyness, intelligence, conflict avoidance to the point of annoyance, and a lot of random things that someone else has.

Yet it doesn’t change the fact that you can just actually get another human being when your current human being is gone.

At least that’s how it is with backpackers. Or maybe even with non-backpackers who have come to the same realisation.

“It’s just me,” he said once when I was being a possessive jealous freak.

And he’s right. It’s just him. I could easily get someone else if I wanted to.

I’ve always been worried I’m replaceable. But the truth is, they are too. We all are.

A lot of these human connections are fleeting, and makes me question the value and reality of them.

It’s equally tiring and exhilarating. You realise this in the blank moments, in between replacing someone, only looking back at little moments that you’ll never replicate, ever.


I shared this sad piece with my friend Ana-Maria. She wrote a lovely reply:

I have that feeling too when I get the blues. The hard fact is that we’re replaceable and it hurts. But it’s also kinda freeing, in a way.

I read some sad cat memes the other day and they got me with “Your lover said the same things to someone else”.

But then if you think about it, yes you say ‘I love you’, but that never means the same thing, the exact same combination of feelings and projects. We just use it for the lack of better words, but we always mean something else.

Yes, we’re replaceable, but not quite as a fitting piece of puzzle, cause it’s never the same.

Even the person who loved us changes, even us. So there is no one there who can fit the gap that we did, because all around it is different now. Bisous & thanks for the read.

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