The worst thing about loving someone is having to stop when you realise that nothing will ever make that love enough. No tireless effort will change the reality that your words can’t morph into sounds they want to hear. No rationalisations they give you will reveal a new chapter of adoration. So you search your mind and rattle your memory in some hope that all the cracks and dents are fixable if you just take some time to find their origin. And when you do, you plant seeds in them and pray for rain. But the rain never comes and your tears aren’t enough to bear fruit. So you have to accept it. You have to live with your differences and change the pattern of your love.
“Friends?” they say.
“Friends.” You respond.