The Last Time' by Maia Cornish

You are bright, cheerful. But you avoid my eyes. I make dinner. You open the wine. We wash dishes. I know you are leaving me.
 I make small talk.
 ‘Shall I book tickets for a play next week?’
 You hedge. 
 ‘Can I get back to you on that?  I need to check my diary.’
 I know you too well. I feel your distance. You think you are fooling me. I let you.
 We make love. You do your bit, I do mine. No emotion. No pretty speeches. Routine. The last time. I don’t cry. 
 I watch you as you sleep. I am as cold as you. 
 In the morning I will fain sleep. You will gather your things furtively. You will close the door for the last time. You won’t leave the key.
 Later, I will cry. Then I’ll change the locks.


Popular posts from this blog

‘Honey’ by Patricia Quintana Bidar

'How to Sacrifice Your Life in the line of Duty and Still Go Uncommemorated on War Memorials' by Jan Kaneen

DEBUT FLASH: 'Come home' by Anne Chapman