Between you and me— a silence thick as molten glass, warping light, bending time, a whisper swallowed by its own echo. Between you and me— a corridor of mismatched footsteps, yours always a half-second ahead, mine dissolving into the tiles. Between you and me— a city that never existed, where street lamps flicker in binary, where the moon reads poetry to stray algorithms. Between you and me— a game of chess with missing kings, a radio stuck between frequencies, a violin string tuned to the frequency of forgetting. Between you and me— a horizon that refuses to choose a color, a compass that spins when I whisper your name, a language that erases itself as it is spoken. Between you and me— the absence of gravity, the presence of ghosts, the taste of a word never said.