George Gad Economou

one day here, one day gone

we were together for two weeks; she abandoned
her boyfriend of three years and came to
live with me, for they
shared an apartment and she couldn’t be
around him. we sat on the couch all day
and night long, guzzling
wine, listening to music, smoking (cigarettes and pot), inhaling
junk, and fucking. for two weeks,
this was our
schedule, our delightfully insane
routine. we couldn’t sleep, we just
passed out. exhaustion, lunacy,
madness. I wrote while she
snored on
the couch, used up by the blow, the hash, and the
fortified wine. she’d clamber up, have a fix, and
we’d fuck. one day, she glared at me, a gaze
full of somberness and solemnity. 
“you know,” she murmured, “I think I’ll
go back to him.” “alright,” I shrugged from
my desk chair, my glance glued to
the dancing lines. “don’t you
wanna know why?” 
“sure, okay. why?” “it was great, being
here with you, we had fun, it was awesome seeing
this side of life. I can’t do this any longer. I miss
him, and miss having a home.”
“okay, I understand,” I said before chugging
some wine. “do you?” she arched
an eyebrow. “yes,” I spun around to
offer her a faint smile. “I’m really sorry,
you know. I truly am.” “don’t be,
“there’s no reason.” “I still am.”
“okay.”
she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, blew
kisses on my neck. our lips touched, our
tongues danced, our bodies
became one. she got
dressed right
after a quick shower, tears welling
down her refulgent hazel eyes.
she left the apartment, probably
returned to her old boyfriend, to her
old familial ways. I’m still
in the same apartment, still haven’t found a
place to call home. I drink, snort blow,
smoke some hash. I’m deep inside
the fog and, sometimes, it does
feel like home.