Anything at all

"Etherized upon a table"
What I once said about life does not hold anymore. I have retreated from my own vision into the shelters of someone else's -- hoping that it will cover me from the raining fire of doubts from the crimson skies of enlightenment on which shimmers the rainbows of thoughts.
I will someday be sitting on a bench, holding a box of chocolates, gazing at people in an amazement who will be looking at me in a dilemna of the selection of the expression of right emotions. Or perhaps, I will be leaning out of the window in the night, with my white shirt's sleeves rolled up, watching people pass in the streets, along with the yellow fog that rubs itself on the window panes -- unaware that its there. That, or I will be playing some music that I will not know the origin of. I will be perfect in the timing of the right notes, ironically, perfectly playing it from the memmory.
I have chosen this for myself. Happen will it must, and I will be unaware that I chose it myself, once.