21/11/2013

Home

It's 4 in the morning and I just lighted up my cigarette. 
A fat cat is rubbing around my bare feet, and two cockroaches share a bit of sugar  next to the coffee machine. 
I just stoped crying in a full apartment of people that I knew and forgotten, in one of the biggest capitals in Europe. 
I blow my nose. 
I take another drag of my fag. 
I kill those cockroaches. 
The cat leaves. 
Someone is snoring. 
I wanna go home, to a place that's not really my home. I wanna be there arguing, dancing, kissing, hugging, enjoying a smoke, watching a movie or making plans for the weekend with him. 
I finished my fag. 
Also my sanity.
My patience. 
I want a spliff, I want a sleeping pill, I want something to stop these thoughts that electrocute my mind. 
Another cockroach shows up.
I kill it.
There's another one on the cooker. 
It's full of these little fuckers here.
The fat cat is taking a shit, I hear him in the bathroom, messing up with his litter box.
The neon light is making a really annoying sound that gets louder and louder.
The fat cat comes back. 
It sits in front of me and waits for me to pet him. 
The cockroach is on the coffee machine, and the sound is getting so loud, I think it's gonna pop. 
It stops.
The cat leaves.
The cockroach is somewhere I can't see it. 
My fag stops burning.
It's so silent that my thoughts could wake up the entire block of flats.
My feet turn purple from the cold floor.
Tears start falling on the same cold floor. 
The fat cat comes again and meows so silent, that's telling me a secret. 
I don't get it, but I promise her I won't tell anyone. 
The neighbour upstairs is probably having a glass of water. 
"Chill. Don't think too much."
A person from home told me this tonight. 
It's a guy that no matter what I say to him, about him, do to him, he's still there and dares to call me a friend. 
A person that no matter what he says to me, about me, do to me, I will always call him a friend.
I light up another cigarette and focus on the smoke. 
I think of someone I lost, that's just dust. 
Her memory faded away in this apartment. 
I hear her voice in my head telling me to stop worrying, getting upset. 
I want her to be here. 
She is here, probably as a few pieces of hair somewhere under the wardrobe. 
I wanna go home. To a place that's not really home. 
But he's home to me. 

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