Your belongings are sitting in the hall.

I didn’t feel any pain

when I bagged them up.

No wrench.

No ache.

No nothing.

Just silence inside my head,

and that makes me feel guilty.


I drive to yours mechanically,

with nothing but the hissing of rain

and noise of relentless engine.

I drift before realising;

I’ve lost track of my thoughts

and forgotten the last few miles.


I sit and wait.

The telly is on.

But it’s just a distraction.

Your leather sofa clings to my skin

as, no doubt, you will.

You arrive all smiles,

but deflate when I dodge your kisses.

The distraction stops…


You shrivel into the sofa.

You sit in silence.

You stare at the carpet as

if wishing it alive to swallow you.


That’s all,

for a whole twenty-five minutes.



After two years

I thought you might fight for me.

But again,


You can’t even cry in front of me,

because pride blocks your way.

You let me walk

and I’m disappointed.


I get back to my lofty room

before the clouds shake,

and surrender their droplets.

From beneath my duvet I listen to the pattering.

We used to love that sound.


But now it’s cold and

more like stones

smashing angrily upon my windows.



Slowly, my tears trickle in.