Stroke of Genius

It has to be told. Told to be understood. I must be the one to tell it. It isn't a long story, but then again it isn't a short story. It is a moment in time that has passed, and yet,still remains. A tale of the moon. Of time lost and gained. Of intermittent smiles.Fleeting recognition. Insight. A boy flying. A book of recent recollections. Geometry unfolding as an art form. Wonder. At the end, it could be that there was nothing. Like an accordion without a player. Elongated memories stitched together. No sound. But the thoughts were so promising. So profound.  That we thought she was on to something.  After all, she had never disappointed. She may have been struck down,  but she was still with us.  We waited for her eyes to open. Even to flutter. It didn't matter how long it took.  We would wait. Wait as long as it took. She could see though she could not speak. Hear though she could not tell.

The eyes never really opened. Thoughts were never uttered. She left behind diamonds and pearls. Sparkles and luster. No one wants it. She is what we really want. Still. A message. A direction. She left us holding a rather large pause and no way to move through it.There may be strength in numbers, but is there sense?