I can't swim in the silence of you skin; please let me in.

I was going through my old, unfinished stories this afternoon & re-reading everything that I’d abandoned; analyzing the story lines. Were they bad, or did I just give up for no reason?
The latter is more likely.
Why did I never continue any of them? The farthest I had gotten was 15 pages in. Then the words just cut off.
The truth is, I never had enough discipline to finish anything.
I still don’t.
I had begun the search through my old stories looking for one in particular. One that stuck out in my mind and kept popping up at odd times recently; one that I had actually liked.
But it was nowhere to be found.
Should I keep searching? Or should I let sleeping story-corpses lie and not disturb the ghosts of old ideas?
It may be too frustrating to rifle through the crevices of my brain for the words long ago transcribed.