Giving up

I see little crystal fish
in the ocean of your gaze
flecks of sky between our eyes
that dance and swim and
skim the planes of understanding
on the outskirts of our days,
on little unmarked roads
that extend like capillaries
into the soft shoulder of the summer air,
like your fingers shifting
though a slip of my hair.
They slide like oil
through the currents of atmosphere,
evasive soap slivers
in a tub of tepid water
I refuse to let you wet your hand.

I have three questions for anyone who reads this:

1. Would you be supportive (read be there, stand by them, whatchamacallit) of someone you love, even though it drains you hollow?

2. How many times before you give up something that has lasted years?

3. Is it easier to walk away or is it easier to stay still?