Question Marks and Closure

When a Text Thread Becomes a Ghost Story

It started with a conversation. Not the kind that unfolds over candlelight or shared coffee, but one that lived in text bubbles—sporadic and strange. Years ago, in a season when I was longing to meet someone, I connected with a man named Darren. Or at least, that’s the name he gave me. We never met. He never sent a picture. He never followed through on calling, except for a few scattered times over the years—and when he did, it was mostly to talk about “back in the day.”

Still, back then, I held on. I gave him pieces of my real self: my number, my photos, my time. I responded when he reached out. I hoped, maybe, that this scattered connection would eventually take shape. But it never did.

The Curious Case of Darren Who?

This so-called connection was always a mystery. He said he lived in Florida now, had once lived in Southern California, and never shared more than shadows of his past—a worn-out mixtape of the 80s, some high school nostalgia, and a story of faded popularity that sounded like it hadn’t been questioned in decades. When we did speak on the phone, he mostly talked about days gone by and missed opportunities. I felt more like a therapist than anything else.

At one point, we even planned to meet in Las Vegas. I booked my tickets. I made the effort. He bailed last minute, citing issues with his condo. The meeting never happened.

The more I asked for clarity—a photo, a last name, a real plan to meet—the more distant he became. Then, like a ghost through a cracked door, he’d return. Out of nowhere. As if no time had passed. As if I’d just been on pause.

Recently, he texted me again. I had long deleted his number. The exchange went like this:

Him: What are you up to?

Me: Who is this?

Him: Darren.

Me: Darren Wells?

Him: No.

Me: Which Darren?

Him: Talk to u awhile ago.

Me: ???

Him: ?

Me: ???

Him: Maybe wrong number.

That was the thread. No apology. No clarity. Just the most consistent thing he’d ever given me: silence and question marks.

And that’s when it hit me: this wasn’t confusion. This was cowardice disguised as connection.

The Truth Behind the Breadcrumbs

Some people aren’t looking for love. They’re looking for attention. For access. For emotional comfort without emotional responsibility. They gravitate toward kind people—people like you, like me—because they know we’ll listen, empathize, offer softness.

But emotional intimacy without reciprocity is just extraction.

And I’m done being a reservoir for someone else’s emptiness.

Scripture reminds me in Proverbs 4:23: “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”

So I did. I stopped responding. I deleted the thread. Not in anger. Not in bitterness. But in peace.

Because God doesn’t ask us to keep answering doors that only open inward.

Soul Insights

1. Breadcrumbs aren’t meals.

No matter how hungry your heart is, someone offering scraps of connection is not offering love. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs from their master’s table,” said the Canaanite woman (Matthew 15:27). But God doesn’t call you to beg. He prepares feasts for His beloved. I remember realizing this the moment I found myself rereading old messages just to feel something. That was hunger—but not the kind worth feeding.

2. A name without a presence is still a stranger.

If someone can’t offer their face, their truth, or even a full last name—what are they really offering? Mystery is fine in novels. But in real life, trust requires knowing. Knowing who they are, what they value, and if their words will ever match their presence.

3. One-sided emotional access is emotional theft.

If you keep giving and they keep disappearing, that’s not complicated. That’s draining. People who love you don’t leave you confused. You shouldn’t have to decode affection. Love is clear.

4. Sometimes the closure is that you didn’t get closure.

Jesus didn’t chase down everyone who walked away from Him. Sometimes love means letting go without explanations. Letting go of the story we thought we were writing. Releasing the illusion that closure must come from the other person.

5. You can forgive someone and still block them.

You can bless someone from afar. You can wish them healing and still delete their number. Forgiveness is not the same as re-inviting someone into your sacred space. Boundaries are grace in action.

Final Thoughts: Peace Over Proof

There was a time I thought I needed answers. I thought I needed to understand who Darren really was, why he disappeared, what he wanted from me, and whether I did something wrong. But I know better now.

Sometimes the answer is the inconsistency.

Sometimes the answer is the silence.

And sometimes the answer is your own strength—the choice to walk away from someone who only ever gave you question marks and start giving yourself periods. Full stops. Boundaries.

Sometimes the answer is in the question marks.

As Psalm 34:18 reminds me, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Even in confusion, even in ghost stories, God shows up. And where He is, clarity lives.

So this isn’t a story about heartbreak. This is a story about coming home to myself. A quiet, steady return to dignity. A reintroduction to peace. And a soft, final full stop.

And that, dear reader, is the closure I didn’t know I needed.

Your Turn

Have you ever entertained a ghost connection—someone who kept showing up half-present? What did you learn when you finally let it go? Share your story with me in the comments. Let’s normalize choosing peace over prolonged confusion.

You deserve a love that doesn’t haunt. You deserve a love that shows up.

Soul Path Insights