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"I will not easily let go of the pain I bear for you;
I will not turn away from my beloved until I give up my life.
I carry a pain from my beloved as a keepsake,
A pain I would not trade for a hundred thousand cures...
I am but a speck, and you are a sun of radiant beauty;
I am sick with grief, and you are my very remedy.
Though I have neither wings nor feathers, I fly after you;
I have become like iron, and you are the magnet drawing me to you.
One must choose sorrow over all else,
And one must cut oneself free from the well of desire."
- Rumi
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