Between the Rose-Colored Glasses

They won’t exactly be sending out search parties for you, so no need to cast a longing gaze toward Gomorrah.
It’s quite an interesting connection between me and all these naysayers, almost like some cosmic joke.
Imagine a leaf petal doing a helicopter impression, whirling around in the wind and making a melodious entrance onto my skin, brushing past my clothes, and tickling my senses. I really ought to cut down on the overanalyzing of every little thing, overthinking even the simplest of thoughts.
On occasion, the descent of a solitary leaf serves as an emblematic reflection on life’s simplicity- “a leaf is just a leaf” I tell myself.
I possess an inclination to imbue every encountered element with a sense of romanticism- something beyond just normal acceptance.
This tendency, I suspect, emanates from my earnest desire to substantiate the significance of my existence, to give me reason, purpose- beyond the mere spectatorial role within someone else’s subconscious reverie.
My yearning extends further, reaching for a heightened emotional intensity, surpassing the present moment’s fleeting sentiments. This proclivity can be attributed to my perception that within the depths of my tears lies a reservoir of unwritten verses, and as they cascade from my cheek, they unfurl entire sagas upon unwitting onlookers.
My own faculties mirror the (what it seems like) perpetuity of a spinning dreidel, ceaselessly whirling through the vast expanse of thought. My goodness.
Like a melody resonating within the confines of a padded chamber, only then will the monotony of existence become stifling.
There are moments when I succumb to a slumber that seems to span epochs, and upon rousing, I encounter a reflection in the looking glass that scarcely resembles the person I once knew- a glimpse into the past of someone that I didn’t want to be anymore.
Every now and then, I can’t help but envy those animals that can wrap themselves up in a cocoon and seemingly take a lifetime to emerge anew.
I know it might sound a bit dark, but I’ve often wondered if cryogenics might have a place in my future, like I’m some kind of butterfly waiting to unfurl its wings. To start the cocoon process.
I’m still in the process of becoming the person I want to be, not quite there yet, not quite cocooned enough.
I tend to toss around the word “kaleidoscope” quite a bit- It’s like I’m navigating through a labyrinth, and I have this persistent feeling that I can uncover the hidden ending to the ever-shifting ultraviolet pattern.
Somewhere amid those rose-colored glasses, there’s a door with an infinite keycode, and I just know the password somehow. And when I finally open it, I won’t feel lost anymore; there’s someone waiting on the other side for me.