My inspiration was here all along

My mind was a maze to my eyes, to itself,
And there, in my mind, I myself awakened,
She was a thought, a remembrance, of herself.
I sought her endlessly outside,
I fathomed the depths in the pits,
The heights of each pinnacle, I probed.

She was running all the while,
Without regard for mundane rambling, utterly unaware
Of the nightmares haunting me in the name of her absence.
To seek her, to find her,
But knowing when the shift happens,
To see and touch her, invisible, formless presence;
This is my sleepless quest, in essence.

In fleeting moments, when I don't see her, nor touch her,
But forge her into my own spirit,
Live through her my life rewritten,
I realize what I hadn't before,
The plain truth I'm bound to forget once more:
My inspiration was here all along.

But it seems that I am not meant to rummage,
To scavenge the fields of existence to find her,
It is her, willing shadow, thought of a thought,
Wraith, ghost, sprite, angel, reverie within reveries,
It is her, inspiration, formless presence,
That chooses the moment of her liking,
To possess me.