You were the kind of person I wanted
more than the kind of person I needed.
The more of you I could ignore,
the easier you were to be with.
And the less reason to.

But no, the more you understand,
the less you can forgive.

Only a fool would desire not to desire
and think themselves different.

I might have loved you
if you hadn't volunteered
to serve at the Shrine of Meaninglessness.

If hell is other people,
is heaven the self-observing self?