He looks to the East in astonishment:

The tone of her voice
Becomes the fall of a light rain on a city street;
Gentle and lively, such as that of a car
Passing through a shallow puddle.

The way she wanders about,
He just cannot look away.
She becomes Aphrodite,
Walking the streets of Greece,
Becoming the new standard for him.

He wishes he could be hers;
Unraveling all of her secrets,
With her compassion,
Adventuring with all of her wonders.

He then turns to the West;
He knows it is not meant to be.

He tries to accept these terms,
Regardless of how unsettling they may be.
He knows he can make her happy in other ways,
Although she can only make him happy in one way.

“In another life, perhaps.”, he states with lament, and starts towards the West.

I do not know why things happen as they do,
But I do know that people exist
To teach us only two lessons
Which we cannot learn elsewhere;
The ability to truly enjoy our lives,
Regardless of how insignificant they may be,
And how to weather the storm,
Left behind in their absence,
So that we may live to see them another day.

Why is it
That the people
Who love the hardest,
Hurt the most?

The natural contrast,
Such as a brother's love
For his younger sister;
Does it bare redeeming qualities?

If all of the love,
In our universe,
Suddenly seized to exist,
Would the hurt not stop?

Alas, this is but the perspective
Of a lover who cares too much.
Though, the perspective of the hurt;
Would they not write the books?