Room was quiet and she was alone; and there was a story in her mind. She felt its wavelength frequency-pulse set in low, steady throb as mind and spirit focused, fixated on imagine. Could she write it—capture and tell it true and full? And even if captured, did she dare enough to share?
Musing, throb of frequency-pulse strengthened—beyond heartbeat and breath into other ways stirring restless of more than mind.
She focused to the feel, resonant and attuned as it affected spirit, mind, and body on.
She let it play; story with spirit of its own, affecting in her then. Flashes of sense, sense of see—loud in her quiet compose.
Breathless in the finish, as if it all had lived, searching then for words so to write and, in writing, feel it all again.