I don't know where it went.

There was passion in places and there were ethereal faces that needed to be described in the most extravagant way to the people who didn't get a chance to see them.

There was New York City lights in my eyes and cigarette ashes that peppered the snow and blew away in the freezing wind.

I was in love with myself and nobody else,
I was looking for hope in old second hand books,
In dream decoding, in slight movements of bodies.

I don't know where it went.

There was time that never seemed to end,
And words that rushed in like the evening high tide,
Pressing its hands on my throat,
Forcing me until I'm gasping
Write it all! Write it all!

And it was there but where has it gone?
Somewhere among the stars where all our other dreams go when we wake?
I've been searching for months, maybe it's something I've done to myself by mistake.
I don't know where it went.