The quiet library brings my countless thoughts to light.

My anthropology book is left to the dust as I rummage through all the questions of the world.

“Rowan,” I mutter, deep in thought.

He doesn’t raise his head from his book. “Yes?”

I slowly trace the stained glass table with my finger. “Do you think we are all truly unique, or are we mosaics of every person we’ve ever known?”

The question must’ve startled Rowan, for he looks at me with confusion.

“What made you think of that?” He said, his hand in his brown curls. He looks exhausted. The least I can do is try and make this studying interesting.

“Well I mean, take this table as an example.” I trace the array of broken colored glass that are placed to shape a garden. “This image of a garden is only done through the use of broken, used glass. The uniqueness of this table is only done because of the array of pieced together glass.”

Rowan looks at the table intently, his thoughts clear on his face.

“I believe each of us are truly unique, though that uniqueness is inspired by pieces of others,” he said with a smile.

“I like that answer.”