“You have a heart the size of a hummingbird’s.”
The transparent x-ray was held out before me, antiseptic sympathy dripping off the white coat.
“And that means?”
I leaned forward, staring at the Miro of balanced organs, trying to see something familiar in the abstract.
“I’m sorry. A heart this small beats twice as fast. Think of it as constant overtime. I’m afraid to say maybe three weeks.”
I left. No tears, no pain, no regrets.
A heart the size of a hummingbird’s experiences life twice as fast.