O friend, we used to consider the pain of jealousy to be bitter, but now even that is becoming bearable.

Here, the poet makes an intimate confession to a close confidant about the quiet exhaustion of a wounded heart. There was a time when the sting of jealousy—the bitter grief of watching the beloved with a rival—seemed impossible to bear. Yet, after enduring so much heartache, the soul has grown so weary and numb that even this sharpest of agonies is beginning to feel tolerable. It captures that poignant stage of sorrow where endless pain stops hurting with fury and settles into a quiet, resigned acceptance.