Let's bury the ghosts, next to the graves of our goldfish and childhood memorabilia. Don't ever come back. Don't call out in the dark, don't talk, don't watch as I ruin my life with every cigarette ashing.

My books are ordinary, my music ordinary, my films, my things, my clothes are all ordinary. Generic. Populist. Un-quirky. I'm staid, boring, domestic. I won't tell you brilliant things. I will butter your toast and flick television channels, wearing my cucumber face pack and floral dressing gowns.

I won't storm and brood and break things, I will decay like a dead rat. I will browse the internet for grandma's tales, because I won't remember any.

I will be lazy and negative, while you'll be fiery and brilliant. I will watch you light up minds, lives, thrill, charm, hypnotize. I will dig my nails into old leather couches and blink at ugly tubelights. I'll be jealous, proud and happy all at once. But I'll leave you like I've left every fascination.

I'm a sloppy leaver. I'm not as clean and efficient as I'd like to be. I'm sorry.