Near midnight, when stars sing their loneliness, my mind boils

Near midnight, when stars sing their loneliness, my mind boils, In a sea of thoughts flowing ceaselessly, like a river of memories and unfulfilled dreams, My soul struggles in the nets of its own reflections, In an endless search for perfection, like a bird trapped in a cage, I stay awake, delving into the abysses of my mind, spinning in circles of illusions. The question haunts me, like an echo in an empty cave: Are overthinkers with restless minds bad? I always believed so, but now, in a moment of clarity, I understand that "bad" is not the right word, it's an unfair judgment, For rarely do you find a soul that thinks too much without being capable of deep love. The night witnesses my insomnia, when sleep flees from me like a fleeting shadow, My mind races at a million kilometers per second, losing itself in the desert of thoughts, Obsessed with every detail of the day, striving to savor life entirely, But everything has a price, doesn't it? My thoughts throb from lack of sleep, my eyes burn with tears shed for unfulfilled expectations, Despite countless scenarios imagined for perfection, the result is exhaustion—tired bodies, aching heads. You're exhausted, aren't you? And it's all because you love life and want to make sure you're truly living it, Not just being in the crowd, watching your body live for you. And in this, there is beauty, a beauty in you, There is beauty in overthinking, Like a night flower, opening in darkness, shining in a secret light, A dance of shadows and lights, a melancholic spectacle of my soul. In the depths of melancholy, I find a subtle magic, A golden thread woven through the fabric of thoughts, My soul soars, even in endless agony, For in every struggle, in every tear, there is an immortal story, A story of love, of life, of the beauty of being human. And so, in the endless flow of consciousness, I lose and find myself, In a world of dreams and reflections, where magic and melancholy intertwine, A world where overthinking is not a curse, but a hidden blessing, A gift of the soul, a quest for perfection, a love that knows no bounds, And in this endless dance, I find the beauty of truly living.