That all your trying only makes me realize more that the feelings we once had aren't coming back.

That sometimes cliches are just that because they're so often true.

I love you, but I'm not in love with you [was I ever...]

It's not you. It's me.

To move on.

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My answers to your questions are an endless tightrope walk between heartbreak and lies. You must see that. You must see the truth. That's why you keep asking, isn't it. You can feel the impending heartbreak. Is the guilt you make me feel the lashing out of a cornered animal, confused and alone. Or is it a malicious retaliation against the slow twist of the knife in your chest.