​You used to say there was no one you truly knew but Catullus,
Lesbia, and there was not a god you would hold before me.
I placed you before all others, not with any passing attraction
but in the way a father might raise up his own sons – or sons-in-law.
Having known you, the more I expend myself in burning for you
the cheaper and more trivial you seem to me.
You want to know why?  Because pain like this
makes me like you less the more that I love you.