The Last Stone

The ones that came before mean very little, their composition and strength known. Understood by the hand that picked them and judged, each according to its merits. Some cast away, leaving ripples where they touched the water, before sinking to be seen no more. Others, slipped into a pocket for safekeeping and held close to the heart. Yet the last remains untouched, brimming with what could have been. Perhaps the hand that did not stray far enough will notice the empty spot on the shelf and return, searching for what must be the final piece of the collection. And yet, what once was is no more. Washed away by the falling rain? Kicked from its place by a passerby? Or maybe just lost among the thousands of twice touched and three times used pebbles.