She’s too much of a woman. An overthinker who analyses every detail. An incredibly intelligent one. A kind who gives more but expects little. She’s often abused for having such a trait, yet still she remains kind and munificent in her most modest way.
She’s too much of a woman, living a life of drama, but she keeps it to herself so no one knows her enigma. She writes about it instead, cries for it in bed, wipes it off once the pain is dead.
She’s too much of a woman, so she wonders everyday, about the existence of the world in the first place. She’s but a girl with a curious mind. Grew up with books and tons of questions in line. Some got answers, some got none. Still seeking for the rest to be unlocked at the right time.
Now she’s here, standing in front of a man. A man she loves with all sums of her being. A man of trouble she embraced with no ceiling. Yes she’s a smart woman, but lucidly stupid in this game she’s playing. Isn’t it ironic? That she’s highly clever but an outright stupid? A woman of class who falls for a narcissistic. A woman this man blames for overanalysing. For too much jealousy and envy, for her bunch of worries and insecurities.
She’s too much of a woman—this is what the man used as an excuse. So he left her ’cause he couldn’t manage her simple rules. Rules of sincere love and undivided attention. Don’t you know that’s what she’s only asking for?
(The digital painting above is an original creation of my boyfriend, Arvy. Special thanks to him for this beautiful piece of art.)