Push and pull
that's what you always seem to do.
I pour my whole soul into you,
and you answer with echoes
faint whispers
fading before they reach me.

I stretch myself thin
just to meet you halfway.
I ask if you're okay
even when I'm not.
I hug you
like maybe it’ll fix everything.

And still
you push me away.
You pushed me away.
I should’ve seen it.
A sign,
a shift.
Maybe you started to realize.
Maybe I came on too strong.
Maybe you finally got tired
tired of me.
Maybe time caught up to the truth,
and now you see me
how everyone else does.

So I step back.
I give you space,
let silence swell between us like fog.
I become a ghost in my own care,
quiet, careful, watching from the edge.

But like a fish out of water,
your breath turns shallow
and you pull me back in.
Suddenly, you’re the one
making sure I'm okay.
You trace the shape of my boundaries,
say you’re worried,
say you’re always here.

And I wonder
which version of you is true?
The one who holds me close,
or the one who keeps letting go?

And maybe that's what we are
a tide that never decides
whether to crash or retreat.
But just like the push and pull of the ocean,
while rough, we flow in a kind of harmony.
And although my energy is starting to erode,
I stay
a shoreline, waiting,
weathered but wide open.
Because some tides never stop returning,
even when they forget why they came.