Words softly whispered in the back of my mind.
Quiet and quick, so sneaky and swift,
I can’t catch them.
What torture is this? Leaving me aching,
Like a lover gone too soon.
Leaving me still longing to be held.
What fresh smack of the whip is this?
There they go again!
Circling, taunting, whispering:
There goes my story.
Not blocked, but not written either.
How can I write what I can’t catch?