Restless

Last night/early this morning, when I was trying to get to sleep so that I would have a chance of being awake at 11 for an inspection of a prospective new home, my brain decided to write a poem. Stupid brain. And then it managed to finish it, so of course I had to get up and write it down so I wouldn't forget it:

When it's missing
You begin
To lose your hold on it

You can't keep it
Touch it
Experience it

It's missing
And you are no longer sure
What it is

You forget
What it was like
When you had it

So it loses its substance
And becomes
Ideal

It's missing
Until you chance across it

And you find
That it isn't
At all
What you were looking for

Diminished, somehow

And you wonder
Was it better
When it was missing?

But, with a sigh, you realise:
When it was gone
You made it a part of you

and that part
is still
missing.