you are too much like that extra scoop of ice cream i didn’t need but still wanted like five texts in a row that make me blush and pretend i’m annoyed like the sun insisting on rising even when my alarm hasn’t forgiven me yet and never enough because no matter how much you talk, i want another story, another silly joke, another version of you telling me that you thought of me while drinking chai. you’re too much like playlists longer than train rides like laughing so hard my stomach decides to protest like my phone buzzing at midnight and me instantly knowing it’s you. and never enough because even after hours, i’ll still scroll back to reread your texts as if they’re museum pieces and not just “wyd?” or “did you eat?” you’re too much like stars crashing into each other just to spell your name across the sky like every metaphor i steal from poets that secretly belongs to you. and never enough because somehow even galaxies feel too small to hold what i feel. if love is excess, you’re the flood i’d happily drown in. if love is scarcity, you’re the last cookie i’ll never share. so here i am, stuck in the sweetest paradox: you’re always too much for my heart and somehow still never, ever enough.