“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.