I don't love you, because if I loved you, I wouldn't be ashamed of it. I don't hate you, because if I hated you, I wouldn't keep it a secret. This is somewhere in between. Like in crawlspace and attics, stuck in fiberglass and old dusty boxes--where it belongs. If I ever loved you, now isn't when. Yesterday, the day before, and that day I almost cried... they weren't the times when I loved you. Looking back at photographs, I don't wonder why my love was nameless. It was amorphous, a feeling to be kept under locks with skeleton keys, and when it escaped... it wasn't spoken with the right language. I couldn't have done the true words justice, because they weren't there. It was never there--my love. It was always just in passing, from glance to glance and note to note, because I never sang you that song. It was just the swansong of my devotion. My heart is crimson, fierce and unkempt, tangled veins and arteries interwoven as a labyrinth. My love is a phoenix and it will crawl from the ground's spindly grasp, out of damp earth and with a mouthful of remembrance. Maybe this time it won't be for you.

You'll always be with me. I will never stop caring, but tonight I feel my blood grow just a little bit colder.