They're bitter-sweet, these things around
Remnants of the life I'd found.
...Or thought I had, at any rate.
And pushing on in other ways
Will not bring back those bygone days
nor cause these feelings to abate.

And so it is that here I stand,
with suitcase and car-keys in hand,
with fingers round the handle curled.
And were this door not burdened with
a sadness that in some ways is
regret, then I could face the world.

But leaving now with all unsaid
about the ways we've been misled
seems honourless and cowardly
and through all other tribulations
problems, trials and complications,
honourable we've tried to be.

So it is I close the door
remember what we're married for
and put the waiting kettle on.
there happens now a brief delay
until I softly put away
the signs that I was almost gone.