"No, I'll just go home." I respond to an empty question. As my dreary body finds home I notice something has changed. There is an abundance of the color purple. I look to where you used to linger. You and all of your yellows. The brightest of them, at that. You left a stain on the floor. You forgot to clean it up. Before I let the mood kill me as usual, I head to my room. Where the scent of you only becomes harsher. I sleep for days. Or something that feels like that. I wake up and set your spot. Make twice the amount of toast I need for myself. Brew twice the amount of coffee. Yet I know you never really liked my blend. It wasn't strong enough for you. I realize you're not coming back. I realize that now I have double the dishes to clean. Double the pillow cases to wash. Double the time to waste. I realize I don't have you. I realize you made me leave that party last night.