Receding lights of the day stabs me as
I prepare for my final walk,
The glass of milk you saved for me,
Will remain on my table untouched,
Words, what remains to be read and what I wrote,
Will lie beside my armchair, you can read it if you want to,
Clothes which you bought for me,
Will rest carefully folded and still novel,
I will not need them and never did,
I will take the blanket which you used to keep in my bed,
I would need it to break the cold; both on the inside and out.
The Sun sets in the horizon, I must begin,
When I walk away, I will not look back,
Because your thoughts, it might still pull me behind.