The message sent, a digital plea, A question mark hung silently. The screen remained, a vacant stare, No little blip, no presence there. The days ticked by, a slow, dull beat, Where laughter lived, now cold retreat. A conversation, once so bright, Extinguished in the fading light. No explanation, word, or sign, Just absence, sharp and crystalline. A sudden drop, a silent fall, As if you never were at all. The ghost appears in memory's hall, A phantom echo, standing tall. A shared joke, a whispered name, Now tinged with an unspoken shame. The questions bloom, a thorny vine, What shifted? What became malign? But silence answers, cold and deep, Secrets the vanished choose to keep. A hollowness begins to grow, Where connection used to freely flow. A lesson learned, though harsh and stark, The lingering shadow in the dark. So now I watch my phone with dread, For future ties that might be shed. A fragile trust, so easily frayed, By the silent way that ghosts are made.