It's strange, she muses. How there never seems to be enough of it when he's near. Love, that is. She never seems to have enough to convey to him just how breathtaking, brilliant, beautiful, otherworldly he is. She showers him, drenches him in her emotions, but her cup is always a little too small. It never holds enough comparatively. He's always dry after her rain.

"Bella," he will breathe through perfumed lips. "Breathtaking, brilliant, beautiful, otherworldly Bella. My Bella."

She drowns in those words, beneath them. They're so much heavier, more meaningful than her own. She's just human, after all.

But when he's gone she's caught beneath a downpour. Too much, her heart holds too much. And the bounty that she though she put aside for him, always him, is dwarfed by a passion too great for her body to hold.

Jacob, her heat beats. Jacob, my Jacob. Jacob, my Jacob. Jacob, my Jacob. Jacob.

Her Jacob.

And for him it feels like she has enough. More than enough – a surplus of love drawn from a never ending well. It's constantly being refilled, reciprocated, regenerated by his smile and the way he crinkles his forehead when he laughs. Usually at her.

"Bells," he will murmur in the dark, all warm touches and musky scents. "Bells, honey."

And his words lift her up, overflow her cup with more than she's ever experienced, ever needed. Because he's only human, after all. And that she understands.

But it all disappears when he returns. Her Edward, her vampire-angel. His glowing presence blinds her to anything else. And she's left barren again, without enough to spare. He sucks away all the excess – the passion, the love, the warmth.

It's strange, she muses. And yet not.

He is, after all, a vampire.