Self-made hell

I have long renounced craving a world of what-if's
I don't rush to correct your truth either
That hardened, hardened truth of yours is no less worthy than the one I possess
The paint used to draw my image and my figure
Has already dried after a hundred of layers and a hundred of years
Somewhere in the world I've walked on, there's respect for your art
And no guarantee getting this piece back to the atelier would fix it
The raw closure I do not need for peace and the refined closure she'd abhor
Do you? Would you?
But since neither you nor I cared enough to clear up that misunderstanding
There wouldn't be meaning to descending to your hell again
You're not responsible for the match that lit up the fire
And that fire still burns, so grandiose
No forgiveness of mine awaits you
I don't cling to yours either
You're not as good as I once thought, you're not as bad as I once thought
Aren't you average? We share that trait
For my ego, I might have it in me to feel sorry
But for your sins and the ones you pushed onto me
I can only offer sympathy