The Things We Left Unsaid

avoidant attachment disorder

She slips from their arms like a shadow,
a ghost of herself retreating into silence.
Their love, offered gently,
feels like a weight pressing on her chest,
too heavy for her hollow heart to bear.
She tells herself she cannot love—
not them, not anyone—
as if her heart was born with walls too thick
for anything to seep through.

When they reach for her,
she feels the sting of tenderness,
not the comfort they intend.
To be loved is to be seen,
and she has never learned
how to stand in that light.
She mistakes the softness for suffocation,
the closeness for a cage,
and pulls away before she can feel trapped.

She thinks she was never meant to love,
that her heart is a barren place,
but somewhere deep inside,
beneath the fear,
there is a longing she doesn’t understand,
an ache for something she always runs from.
And in the stillness of her solitude,
she mourns the love she never lets in,
not knowing it’s herself she’s afraid to face.