I read a story Rumi told about a King, a doctor, a woman, and I wonder, ‘who am I in the story?’ The woman, in love with another life - her good looking goldsmith? The one who leaves the moment that’s not so good looking? The one who resists the life around her and resists the King’s love?
The doctor shows her love to be untrue. She’s devastated, I’m sure, but she’s still loved / and better to be loved by the King / you will eventually love like him / but to love temporarily / as a lovesickness? / Maybe not.