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?’
‘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.
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