The second to last time I saw you, you were all set to marry a refugee you barely knew from Africa. She was pregnant. You were eager to be a father to this transcontinental set of cells. You said you would name it Filodicai, which translates roughly as 'lover of justice'. I supposed that if the child grew up evil, you could rename it Infolidicai.
I saw you once more at a coffee shop, several months later. You were sitting with a woman with ivory-pale skin and waist-length ash blond hair. She said to you, 'I've never met anyone so self-actualized as you' in a way that implied that plans for you and the refugee and her little Filodicai didn't work out so well.