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.