A/n: I took the prompt "Write a poem about an everyday object e.g. an envelope, apple etc.", and then I ended up with another sequel to Almost endearing. It would be best if you read Almost endearing and Feeling guilty first, if you really want to get the feel of the situation. This is written from the same POV as Almost endearing and is not autobiographical.

The heavy envelope lays on the table, the opener next to it, cold and untouched.

I don't need to read that letter to know what it says.

You've left me.
I know it.

I love you.
Please come back.

I must have voiced that last one out loud because you tell me I should've thought of it earlier.
I turn around and see you standing in the doorway. Thank God you haven't left!

Yet.

You haven't left yet. You make that very clear.
You just wanted to say goodbye in person.

I never...
Never thought you'd have the guts to actually...
Walk out on me.

I never really wanted you to.

You shift your feet and change the way you stand.
Your shoulders are tense and I remember how they used to feel under my hands, whenever your job caused you stress, left you stiff and overwrought.

When I was still allowed to touch you.

But it's not work this time; it's all me.

I almost laugh out loud again.
Feverishly. I never seem to laugh out of mirth anymore.

It's all I can do to not break out in hysterical sobs.

It's dawning on me: I've gone too far.
There'll be no convincing you to stay.

Please.

You shake your head. Your fist closes around the handle of your suitcase.

Please

The distance in your eyes is positively unrelenting.
It's an expression I know well; I've often seen it looking back at me.
From the mirror.

Please – I need you.

You tell me No.
You tell me you're sorry.
You tell me the envelope contains your new address;
You're not just leaving me, you're leaving me for someone else.

Someone else

I've always liked silence, but this one hurts my ears.

Don't leave me.

You leave me.

Empty.
Shaking.
With nothing left to say.

I love you.

Don't go.

You lock the door behind you and throw the key through the letterbox.

Along with your wedding band.

The patter of your footsteps echoes through the hall, then makes way for silence again.