Letters For Someone, Someday

drifting with the lost things in the air

Where does the time go?

Whisked away, forgotten and lost between spaces
I forgot to do it yesterday
Jot it down before it escapes, or let it go, knowing it's set in stone in the past; solid, like a rock, while the water has rushed past - left behind, in the wake of an ever-changing, ever fluid present
Always there, if I someday double back, there's always something there beyond the current; well tuned, while this moment makes its own waves, its own place
And a wish to recreate overcomes the ability to make something of the now
As if it's not supposed to change

Dozens of things lost somewhere - lost in space, found somewhere by words and grace forgotten
Maybe someday, I'll find that place, because all it is is me, where I belong there
And I'll be with the lost things in the air, with one foot in the forest and one in a present past brought back by a whim on the wind
Moments, segments, blurred together yet something so distinct, easy to feel again, easily found but lost in a cycle of being renewed where they'll never be remembered

As I find myself somewhere, perhaps drifting with the lost things in the air; a sound, a sight, a dream reminiscent of a past daydream never seen again, lit by colors only I can see and feel and lose and find one day again 
Perhaps, they were never lost if I never let them go; perhaps they were always there
Changes, sometimes frequent when I blink but the past remains the same; and feeling, off somewhere, watching, able to see something between fiction and a dream

Drifting, with the lost things in the air, where I find the stone and drift above the current; I can see - taped together, like patchwork, always better in the past when new and found; yes, this is something lost, renewed to use and made again
As it rattles on, the pattern changes; feeling fades from thoughts - aware, aware of everything, of every thought, of every scene - moreso felt like dreams, like the air, and I could never know elsewhere, laced between the words
Thoughts bring back nothing; feeling, somewhere, a world, a place to which only I have the key - if only it could follow me around, rather than lie tethered to a moment to which it has no bond 
If only somewhere could be found

Time spent drifting with the lost words in the air; where I belong; remember moments found remain
Somethings should never change