You wept,
as all failed lovers do.
Collected your things,
I had packed, neatly
with care
into boxes.
I did not cry.
There can be
no tears,
not now,
not after
everything you have done.
So I loaded your car,
as you collected
clothes from hangars.
Only a few minutes
spent together.
Then,
you were done.
In silence
we rode the elevator
down.
I handed you
my letter,
placed the keys,
gently
into your shaking hands
and
with mercy
I said,
I’ll see you
around.