Sonnet 140, by NY Shakespeare Exchange

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love to tell me so;
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know;
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee;
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
     That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
     Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

Sonnet 140, from The Sonnet Project, by the New York Shakespeare Exchange.

Zillah Glory as the woman looking at photos of her and her friend, and making that unanswered call, may just be at the edge of coming out.  That is, as being in love with her friend, who senses that something more is underfoot and has begun an awkward distancing from her unexpected suitor.  It's flat out agonizing for Glory.