The compassion of my love boasted, "I will leave and he will then desire me!"
The patience of my love ridiculed and scolded, "I am running out of time, for as I wait I am only growing old!"
All this griping and complaining is unproductive. When my mood quiets down she'll whisper, "There is no greater pleasure than the wound of love."
A heart never broken would never understand this game called love.
