Too much, too little

Did I text too soon, too late, too much?

Was my laugh too loud, my need too clutch?

Did I press too hard for a joke to land,

Or reach for your time with a trembling hand?

Did I ask too often, “How was your day?”

Did my eagerness push you further away?

Was my heart too open, too easy to see,

A mirror reflecting too much of me?

I wonder if my “good mornings” came fast,

Like a tide that rose but couldn’t last.

Or if my “can’t wait” was a little too clear,

A beacon of hope when you needed to steer.

Did I type too long when you craved the short?

Was I playing chess while you played sport?

Or maybe it’s worse—I wasn’t enough,

Not clever, not calm, not steady, not tough.

I scroll through the threads, like a book of regret,

Reading each line for the signs I forget.

The places where “haha” turned into “k,”

And the warmth of your words began to decay.

It’s subtle, this slipping, like sand from a grip,

A shift in the current, the start of a rip.

But here I remain, too quiet to fight,

Too desperate, perhaps, to ask if I’m right.

Too much, too little—both haunt the same,

A ghost of connection that I cannot name.

And maybe you’re fine, and it’s just in my head,

But your silence is louder than what you’ve said.