Hope.
It's been compared to many things.
A ray of sunshine, breaking through the clouds.
The light at the end of a dark tunnel.
The thump of a baby's heartbeat from an ultrasound monitor.
But to her, it was one thing. One person, rather.
And he was walking away from her. She was letting him walk away to be exact.
If she asked him to stop, he would. But she couldn't keep putting him through this. This pain, this hurt that she knew he was going through every day no matter how much he denied it. She had to love him enough to let him go. She had to be selfless like he always was.
Even if it hurt like hell.
He'd probably never know.
He'd never know that every time he left her a heartbroken voicemail she would cry herself to sleep, wondering why he put up with her.
He'd never find out that most of the songs on her upcoming album were about him and what she'd put both of them through with her stupidity and selfishness.
Unless she said something, made him stop. Forgot her promise to herself that she would quit putting him -and herself- through this.
But after all, weren't they meant to be?
So she said something. Two words. Seven letters and an apostrophe.
"I'm sorry."
She expected him - heck she almost wanted him - to say, "Me too," bitterly and keep walking away from her. But as usual, he surprised her. He turned around and looked at her with something glittering in those deep, chocolate eyes.
Hope.