I Am One

I am one of many. One oar among eight or four. One story on a single shelf lost in a colosseum filled with bookcases. One. I am one piece of the big picture, a single dot on a pointillism painting.

If I was removed from the boat, it could go on. If my story was removed, the colosseum would still stand. If my dot was removed from the painting, it would remain a painting.

Without me, the world would keep on spinning. Though missing a piece, it would only be one.

I am one. One oar, perfectly crafted, that can fit on any shell. One complete story, the only one in a colosseum with my name on it. One. I am one piece of the big picture, a single perfectly formed dot that adds color to a pointillism painting.

If I was removed from the boat, it would list to one side, not as strong. If my story was removed, a space would remain on the shelf, forever empty. If my dot was removed from the painting, the picture would change.

Without me, the world would keep on spinning. Missing a piece, it would never be the same. It would never change because of me. The world would miss me, for though I am only one, I am one.