I continue to create

I look at all these words written by masters,
And they depress me more than they inspire.
They fill me with self doubts.
Would I ever be able to write something even half as good as this?
Would someone ever love me even half as much as them?

And what’s the point of writing?
Everything that was ever to be said has already been said.
Everything I ever write from today onwards would be a form of plagiarism.
No idea is original. Not a single one.
So why even try?
Why keep excruciating yourself only to feel like a fraud in the end.

But then, isn’t it egoistic to think only about yourself?
I write not just for myself but for others’ sake too.
Yes, everything to be said, has been said, but not in my style.
Yes, I might never be loved, but at least I am unquestionably liked.
That means Something.

So I continue to create.
Until I won’t be able to.
So should you.

~RavS