Chasing Shadows

Thoughts slip like shadows under cafe tables,

a stranger sketches dreams on a napkin,

while I search my own mind, fog clouding the corners,

where ideas used to roam free, but now, they scatter.

I wonder, what is this thing, thinking? A puzzle?

Each piece barely fitting, yet all feeling so real,

conversations flicker like flames, grasping at warmth,

but when I reach out, they slip through my fingers.

That crumpled napkin, ink barely there,

feels like all that I wanted to say, tossed aside,

as I sip my lukewarm coffee, staring down,

at the void where my own words are meant to breathe.