Her messages arrive like whispers in the night, brief, delicate threads of connection. Each word she sends is a pulse of light in the darkness, a soft caress across the distance that separates us. I hold them close, these digital echoes of her presence, reading them over and over until they fade from the screen like footprints washed away by the tide.

She is my secret love, a phantom who slips through the cracks of my day, leaving traces of herself in fleeting glimpses—an ellipsis here, a hesitant word there. I watch them vanish, these messages that disappear as quickly as they come, and I am left with only the ghost of her in my mind. My heart aches with each one that slips away, knowing I can never hold on to her for long, knowing that she exists in a space between moments, just out of reach.

Still, I cherish the silence she leaves behind, the space where her words once were. It is there, in that absence, that I feel her most deeply, her presence haunting the edges of my thoughts. I replay our brief exchanges like a favorite song, each note resonating in the quiet places of my heart. And though her texts may disappear, she remains with me, a secret I keep in the shadows, a love that lingers in the spaces between the words left unsaid.