Your farewell

You were thinking of simply standing up, walking through that door, not remembering, not looking back, just leaving.

... must remember to leave the keys on the table, and a neatly written note with a forwarding address. In case there is mail.

Just walking through that door, lingering just for a moment on the threshold, and looking back to see whether you hadn't forgotten anything, now that you wouldn't have your keys anymore.

.... must remember to close the water connection to the washing machine and the dishwasher just in case. And the number to the plumber if the boiler overheats again.

Just walking through that door, looking back on that grey room and asking yourself why it had taken so long to realise that you could not possibly live there. Or rather, why you stayed so long after you realised that you could not possibly live there.

... and of course a letter to all friends. A mixture of warmth and regret and under the circumstances it's best this way.

Just walking through that door, leaving that grey room, hoping that the walls had been grey even before you moved there, or else that the greyness had a perfectly rational explanation and nothing to do with you. Closing the door tight so that none of the greyness would seep out from underneath and cling to your legs.

... and of course make sure that somebody would take care of the plants.

In the end you arranged the party, shook the hands, kissed the cheeks, received the flowers and exchanged warmth and regret and let's keep in touch.
And then you walked through that door. Afterwards you would never be sure whether you had closed it tight or left it wide open.

And then you left.