On Thoughts

Sitting, pen in hand, waiting for a thought. It's a bubble, now a wave. I don't know where it's leading but I follow it, ride it. To the shore? No. Into the air and through the cosmos. Into the non-physical dimension of thought-space. Then another thought rises to its fate. What becomes of these abandoned thoughts? Do they evaporate or do they mature or ripen under certain conditions and rain back down on us, to make real all that is possible?