"It has been my experience," she whispered, "that happiness never comes without another's anguish. And maybe I'm selfish.."
His eyes beg her not to finish that sentence.
"But I'd rather be happy than protect anyone else."
And that was that. And that was betrayal. Somewhere he knew he could not ask her to be any more than she was. This was her, whimsical and indecisive. Hummingbird's hearts beat 1260 beats a minute. Their bones, lightweight and hollow. Her wings were always much too ready to take the beats it needed to fly away.
He knows he wouldn't love her without those fragile, hollow bones, and those wings always flying out before her.
But he wished she'd be a little more selfless.
"Are you sorry?" His voice is weak.
"No." Hers is strong. "But that, I am sorry for."
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