How Can I Explain?

How can I explain that my mind never stops creating scenes, That I'm constantly imagining movies, art, and in-betweens? My thoughts are restless universes birthing worlds inside my head, I'm madly imaginative—reality's just where I rest in bed. How do I explain that music isn't just a sound I hear, But something that I feel and smell, that pulls my senses near? Each melody has texture, every chord a different taste, I don't just listen to the song—I live inside its space. How can I explain I'm comfortable alone yet crave the crowd, That solitude feels sacred but I also love it loud? I'm an ambivert who thrives alone but needs connection too, A contradiction that makes sense to only very few. So how do I explain I'm madly imaginative, deeply strange, That my brain operates in frequencies outside the normal range? I don't think I can—some things aren't meant to be defined, I'm just a mind that thinks in colors, sounds, and art combined.