I should be used to the sight and sound of you leaving now because it happens so often but every time you slam the door and leave the shouting and the screaming and the sound of broken plates behind the ringing in my ears just gets louder and louder until it's all I can focus on. I thought maybe I could be better for you if I stopped trying to protect the plates you would smash in the future and started fixing the broken pieces from past arguments to get all of my feelings out but now I'm just a limp body on the floor surrounded by the colour that fills the air when we fight. You left and I didn't hear you come back, no one did, and I'm starting to wonder who called the ambulance and left the door open so they could get to me in time. I didn't want to die but I guess I didn't really want to live either and now all I can hear are empty footsteps outside of past lovers crossing paths as ghosts of whom they used to be. Maybe I should be used to the sight of you leaving, but maybe you should get used to the sight of me being nothing more than a ghost.