Originality

Originality is an illusion
Almost impossible
In this world where experience
Is something everybody meets and greets
Like an author whose work is more popular
Than the names of Uranus’s moons
Like that everyday travel buddy
Whose life to you has been a 24/7 open book
Because you do nothing but listen to her stories

Originality is an illusion
Almost impossible
In this world where style
Is a choice and choice is what everyone makes
And choice comes from options
Which means forever having that possibility
That someone else picks the same one as yours

Originality is an illusion
Almost impossible
In this world where television
Is a regular thing
And people sit in front of it
Day and night
Longer than the time
A mother spends to watch her baby sleep,
Watching the same things over and over again
With or without them knowing it

Originality is an illusion
Almost impossible
In this world where music is universal
And music artists are distinct and indistinct
At the same time
Like melodies or lyrics you think you’ve heard somewhere
It’s natural

It’s natural that even mistakes
are never original
You repeat them a hundred times over
Despite knowing repercussions,
Yes despite suffering repercussions

Your story
If you haven’t written it,
Somebody else has written it for you
Maybe he or she is from across the planet
Or just the one sitting beside you on your couch
A good old friend
Or a complete stranger
Your story
It’s never original
Somebody else has had it
A better or a worse story
And you
Must have also written stories
Of someone you haven’t met
Or of someone you will spend the rest of your life with

It’s not at all bad
This impossibility reminds us
How miraculous minds are,
How mysterious this life is,
And Why for the nth time you read your favorite book,
You still find yourself falling in love