There isn't that much ''new'' left. Poems, songs, paintings, sonnets etc. It's all the same idea. They're all about the one that got away or the hurricane of emotions left behind. Or maybe that childhood kiss that was sweeter than the strawberry jam mom would pack for lunch. Maybe it's about those days you'd run out in the storm in rainboots, waiting to feel those droplets on our face because there was nothing that a little rain couldn't wash away...right? Those tormented nights when the big bad wolf known as life, reminded you that not everyone thought you were a "superstar".
And in those moments, mom or dad, aunt or uncle would say "Life happens, honey". Those words never felt like comfort. They were more of a reminder that they had already experienced it and more was coming. Which brings me back to: there isn't that much new left. Although the canvas might be different or the medium could be thicker, there is still the same picture.

Everything has already been done before. Someone already felt it.