Only to Be Remade

I had meant well. I had. It likely wasn't what it seemed. A thought lost forever. So what now? How to tell and be and say and write and do without writing or doing or saying or telling. The kid was right. We don't belong here. I had the thought. Dismissed. And then again. To what end if we never listen. To what end if we do? Both unknown. Both in the dark. Both to lay what they will. But one assured. It can't be fixed. No, things are too late for such. It cannot be copied having no mold. It cannot be restored. Such would be a breach of faith. To what then? Completely lost?