Are we “too much” or are we just “too little”?

It’s always the happy ones that were covered in glitter from a young age. Throwing champagne around like water and talking about yachts just to talk shit. They soak in milk and have beautiful white fangs. They go into the night and search for a connection yet never really finding one worth their time.
And I sit with them, laugh with them, drink with them but never really understand them. I was one of those souls that were meant to search for a meaning in a meaningless world. The outsider, the party-pooper. Wishing for a piano in a club and some black coffee at 6am. As time passed I started wondering if things would ever change or would I stay up all night with work just lusting to find a waterfall in the middle of a dessert.
I remember them saying “you’re too much” and me wondering “but maybe that’s better than being nothing?”. I ran away again from the city to find the wave meant for me.
It never came but it still seemed wildly romantic.