The silence hummed at him, at his ears, at his brain; quiet yet loud, like the fluttering wings of a lingering humming bird, perching on both sides of each shoulder.
Reprimanding. Reminding. Restless.
For what seemed an enterny, his mind pondered. Whirled. Rung. And now? Now, he simply just... sits alone. At his desk. Right hand risen to his mouth, one nimble finger hiked just like so, almost close enough to that statuesque nose.
Close enough to brush just the curve of that one. Gently. Ever so Faintly. Twitching. Nostril.
He sighs.
The design? He had to get the design. He had to get it right, not just right, but just exactly as he had envisioned that glorious magnificent night out on that exquisite balcony, sometime some few weeks ago, when in "Orleans", in the "French Quarter's" after sunfall.
He stood at the railing on that balcony, held on, as if he were holding onto all of his dreams, eternities and resurrections, all in the grasp of simply two grasping hands.
He said to his assistant, his dearly beloved and most loyal assistant,
"The moon... and her light... it is..." with such a hushed sound, a noise so timid and delicately domineering in it's antiquarian cadence,
"what I envision for my newest latest design..." he kept his radiat bold angelic hues fastened on the moon, the gloom of her tender eerie glow like shinning emeralds captured in the phoenix gold pools of his gaping wide eyes,
"I'll call'lit... Moonlite Sonata." Ah! Yes. He remembers. Her. She and her encouraging smiles. He sighs again, but... this time.
With a shred of hopefulness. Perhaps the design just needs more time to ferment in his mind. Yes.
...sounds best.
