Wheeling Gull Isle this isn't a stain of red wine, i'm bleeding love

He watched his words resonate – the shock of everything seemingly falling in to place where she finally registered what he had been saying. She was missing part of her life – her memories. How would that feel?
 
He didn’t continue – didn’t clarify anything more, for no sooner did his jaws open did she gently spoke of having heard enough. She had taken in all she could, and he felt a wash of guilt. Perhaps he had revealed too much? Had there been a better way to ease her in to what had happened? How could he when he didn’t even know what had happened?
 
He was about to comment – to tell her she should rest, and if she needed him for more answers, he would be here. But her pale eyes flashed at him, and then she darted away. He remained rooted, resisting the urge to follow, and instead, watched the pale dove disappear from his view. It would be the last he saw of her for awhile – he could only wonder if time really did heal all wounds.