You must accept that’s who he really is.
You must accept that you cannot be his
unless he can be yours. No compromise.
He is a canvas on which paint never dries;
a clay that never sets; he’s steel that bends
in a breeze; he’s a melody that when it ends
no one can whistle; He is not who
you though. He’s not. He is a show
that walks away: “I will not go where you
want to go.” “Why, then, are you a shoe?”
"I’m not. I have the sole of a lover
but don’t know what love is.” “Discover
it, then.” “Will I have to go where you go?”
"Sometimes." "Be Patient with you?" "Yes."
You have to hear what he is telling you
and see what he is; how it is killing you.
— Kate Light