He walked me to the door a quick goodnight

He walked me to the door, a quick goodnight.

His smile was thin, a pale, dim sort of light.

I saw it coming, knew before he spoke,

the casual goodbye, the final joke.

Then, silence. Just his back, a blur of blue,

as he turned inwards, knowing what to do.

And then the sound. Not slammed, not soft, but true.

A hollow thud. A faint, conclusive click.

That deadbolt sliding, like a buried brick

in my chest. The clinical, bright hall

suddenly vast. I’m standing, small,

and lipstick-smeared. The air too still and clean.

Like I was never there, or had never been.