She was always a little too much.
A little too much insane. But that's what kept me sane.
Her eyes indecipherable, and that mystic countenance giving away a teensy bit more each time I planted a kiss on it.
She was always a little too much.
She said her belly fat was ugly and reminded her of how she wasn't pretty enough.
And I could do nothing but look at her with my stoned face and laugh.
Laugh because never did she notice how she was this extra dose of everything and how her body would otherwise be too small to house it all.
I laughed because I knew that all her love handles were charismatic, and the skin that hung a little loose below her breasts at the sides was where she kept all her darkest secrets.
And I knew how they were too many in number to be counted and weighed too much to be buried in a 50 kg skinshed.
She was always a little too much.
I remember the night she sobbed about all those stretch marks around her waistline, and arms, and back.
And I grabbed her right in my arms. And told her 'honey, why would you limit your definition beauty to the prescribed norms that God knows who has set? Your stretch marks are gorgeous, trust me. They are evidence of how the moon kissed you on your back, and how the stars aligned themselves on you each night when the sky wasn't huge enough for them.'
And to this she'd say, 'So you think I'm bigger than the sky?' And I'd tickle her chin into sleep and Stargaze at all the reminiscents of the stars and the moon.
She was always a little too much.
That night she fell asleep in my arms as I puffed my cigarettes one after the other trying to understand how my skies had come down to Earth, straight into my arms.
And there, amidst the moon and the stars, I found my home. Right over her belly button. And just as I moved my fingers around it, a meteor shower took place consuming me whole. The smoke from my cigarettes had almost filled the room, and it was my night sky with all celestial objects in one place. My embrace.
She was always a little too much.
The credibility of her being was something I constantly questioned. As for me, I couldn't believe a being so heavenly could exist. Her belly button was such a distraction. Like a vernissage which led to the hallway of her heart which had inside it all the beautiful artworks the world could have ever known. With my fingers dancing to the music of the meteor shower whose origin I assumed to be her navel, and my soul shuddering at the thought of her loss, I fell asleep just to wake up to the sunshine peeping through her cloudy chest.
She was always a little too much. And the morning she made me coffee, I remember how it was too Much sugar. But I had instilled the fact that she would always be too much. Unlike the world which always had hardly a polyp to give away, she'd have an entire coral reef. Too much happiness. Gloom. Shivers. Magic.
Always too much to break my reveire , too spacious to be my home, and exactly enough to be mine.
