The Last Night of December

Written by: Abi Morgan

Hands bundled inside beige wool
Clutching the brown bag I bought you for your birthday
The reason I came back after I ran away - 
To wrap your present
A feeble attempt to atone
I am sorry, please don't go.
You button up the coat we chose in the sale
Pull on the grey boots I found for you,
The last pair left and they were in your size - 
At least some things work out I suppose.
You look sad and deflated as if
Someone with a pin pricked your balloon
And hope came seeping out slowly
As you try to cling onto insubstantial air.
I clench my hand so tight it hurts
More than I thought, more than it should; 
I look down and peel my fingers from my palm
Revealing a sharp shiny pin.