To the forgotten words..
You will always be loved, from the moment I wrote you thought you discovered you were inspired by you, I imparted myself unto you.
You are my greatest failing, but it's not your fault.
As Lao Tzu once thought and successfully verbalized:

"If you are depressed you are living in the past if you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace, you are living in the present."

You are because verbalization cannot adequately paint these things out so that they are recognizable, and of course my own neglect to nurture you.

You are beautiful, an elegant dance always retracing its own steps trying to find its name, its place on the stage of my tongue, you are bold and explosive, capable of crumbling the walls I've built.
But you are lost in line and the final contestants have already been chosen for this season.

You are forgotten, romanticized to ensure myself you were once worth it, but then wouldn't I remember you?
Wouldn't your name slip out under the covers of another's passionate explorations?
People often struggle to find something spectacular, constantly climbing mountains never looking anywhere but at the peak where the sun sits.
And although the view is gorgeous you may be blind by the time you get there.

Often we forget that before there was anything, a light to chase, glory for that matter, there was darkness.
An utter emptiness, which is now where you reside, and I've been to blinded by the light to go bumping around in that night to find you.

You, are not always wise, but you were mostly honest, although misguided from what I hear of you these days.
I do miss you, so if perhaps your rehearsals over.
The stage is set, and I've got my hands locked steady praying for your return, ready to burst into applause at the miracle of your existence.