No things are named after me

No bridges or buildings, no mausoleums, museums or musical instruments.

No Gallop poll or Geiger counter. No Pilates or Petri dish.

To be named after a cure for cancer or a common cold would be a life changer.

I’d settle for offering my moniker to a new IKEA product or unnamed alleyway.

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing not to have anything named after you. There’s a quiet beauty to wandering this life, one’s name kept only to themselves and those closest to them.

Sometimes when it’s stormy, I offer my name to a random raindrop falling from the sky.

I say it quick before the drop crashes to earth and rushes off with all the others.


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