It's been months and months and months and I've spent all this time with words dripping through my mind, but drying up at the tip of my pen. I crept through the corridors of my thoughts, trying to find from whence they came, as though I could trap them at the source and have them gleam back up at me from the paper's surface.
I found naught but dead ends.
And then I came to the realisation that they are an embodiment of all this time that I have spent chasing you through my dreams. I cannot hold them, because like you, they are insubstantial.