​Push and pull

Anxious: I need to know if you’re okay. You’ve seemed so distant lately, And I can’t shake the feeling That something’s wrong. I just want to be close to you, But I’m scared of falling away, Of losing what we have. Please, can you tell me if this is still real?

Avoidant: She reads it. The words sit heavy in her hands, Each one like a brick pressing against her chest. Her walls rise higher, She doesn’t know how to lower them. How can she tell him she needs space Without making him feel like he’s too much? The vulnerability of it all Feels suffocating, Like a weight she can’t shake off. The screen feels like a bridge too far, And she doesn’t know how to cross it.

Anxious: He watches the “read” receipt flash, And his thoughts spiral, Each possibility crashing through— Does she feel the same? Does she think I’m too much? Is she pulling away because she’s tired of him, Or because she’s scared too? Maybe this is it— The beginning of the end. His thumb hovers over the screen again, But he doesn’t send another message, Not yet. He waits, and waits, His anxiety only growing.

Avoidant: She goes through her day, Her walls like a fortress around her heart, Her mind racing, But her body locked in place. She feels the pull of him, She really does— She likes him more than she wants to admit. But the closer he gets, The more her walls rise, Afraid if she lets him in, She’ll lose herself in him. I need space, I need control, She thinks, But shes longing for him A reminder of what she’s trying so hard to hide.

Anxious: He checks his phone again, His chest tight as he opens the chat. Still no reply. He paces, his mind a blur, Thoughts crashing into each other, Each one more frantic than the last. Maybe she’s just busy, Maybe she’s thinking it over— But what if she’s pulling away, What if he’s just pushing too hard? He types, deletes, types again, But nothing feels right. Should I call? No, I don’t want to pressure her. His fingers ache from holding back.

Avoidant: She sits in silence, Her phone resting like a heavy weight in her hands. Her mind spins, Torn between wanting to reach out, And the fear of giving in. She can’t bear the thought of being too close, Of losing herself to someone else. I need to be alone to breathe, she tells herself, But there’s a tenderness in her chest That wants to reach through her walls. But the walls are everything— Her protection, her safety. She won’t let them fall, Not yet.

Anxious: The night comes, And he lies in bed, His phone still in his hand. He rereads her silence Like it’s some kind of message, Some answer he can’t decipher. He types again, A simple “Goodnight,” Hoping it will somehow close the gap, But the more he types, The more it feels like he’s begging For something he can’t quite grasp.

Avoidant: She’s in bed too, The room quiet except for her breathing. Her phone rests in her lap, Her mind drifting back to the message, To the words she still doesn’t know how to say. She begins to type a reply, Something simple, But it feels heavy— The weight of everything unsaid. Just as her thumb hovers over “send,” She sees his typing bubble appear. And then, They both stop. Not sure what to say anymore, But afraid to be the first to speak. Neither of them presses send.