in the end:
it was everything you never said

that set your place at my table
every night

while I ate: alone,
watching re-runs of us

tired promises of happily ever after
lump in my oesophagus

but I never ate anyway,
not alone, not with you, not with anyone;

the roast burned, potatoes boiled over,
while I sat, motionless

in the deafening echo
of your silence

I remember those final moments
and why I stay:

forever alone.

L.J.
images (4)

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