I can see you, but you can’t see me; gripping a large box of cheap chocolates you’ve bought last minute from the petrol station.
I wonder if you’ll sneak a bite from its large selection while you wait? Perhaps the coconut ones will remind you of me as a fairground shy? Or will the hard fudge get your juices flowing, just like the many times you shoved my face against a wall?
Those photos I saw of you and her; the ones you accidentally streamed to the TV while you were working upstairs. You were undressed, together, and in our bed.
You think I’m going to forgive you, again. Say that it was my fault that I made you angry. That you couldn’t help getting drunk with all the trouble I put you through; especially with me falling down the stairs and losing our baby.
But I won’t, not this time. So instead, it’s time for me to leave, split, flit, whatever you want to call it, and for good.
I know you’ll always be looking for me.
And I’ll be looking for you; over my shoulder, making sure I miss every single pavement crack.