"I don't love you," you say.

Actually, you didn't say it. But there was a feeling that was radiating from your skin, humming just above the surface, burning me as I came close.

The words might as well have just sloppily spilled off of your tongue and onto the cold ground.

"Why?" I ask myself, not you, on impulse. But I already knew the answer. I had been here with you many times before.

Before you can part your lips, before you can try to convince me one last time, I turn around and retrace my steps.