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.