plants; ethma

3;

Dear Diary,

The idea of ​​dying isn't often so unpleasant.
There are nights when I just want my mind to leave me alone forever and stop letting me relieve those moments continuously.
It's in those times that I think about grabbing a kitchen knife and end it all. The memories of that day are too heavy and they oppress me more and more.
But I don't find the strength, usually my screams fill the narrow space of my apartment for a while while the ghosts of the worst day of my life pass in front of me.
Then I stand up looking at that claustrophobic white ceiling and curse the owner of the apartment for not letting me paint it.
It became nauseating to watch it every night, to see it move in a vortex, until my tears stop falling.
There have been times when I got there, I mean in the kitchen. I even grabbed that knife, but ended up dropping it between the dishes and retiring to my room again, with one hand covering my mouth and suppressing sobs.
I know that one day my conscience will never draw me back and the pleasure of having the metal against the skin of my hand and seeing that memory disappear for a moment will give me the final push.

Lately attempts to occupy my mind with something that I will remember the night and with which to suppress my past aren't completely useless.
Now, before I go to bed, I remember Ethan's laughter, or his voice singing the time he stepped into my secret place.
It's strange that the image of a stranger calms me down, mitigates bad thoughts, although it doesn't completely erase them.
I don't know how he manages to do it, but it's like when as a child I tried to remember the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks to be in good mood.
The best memories I have are almost always found when I was near the sea and this is also why summer is my favorite season.
It reminds me of walks on the shore hand in hand with my father, who fantasized about drawing the rocks and crossing the ocean aboard a boat. It reminds me of my mother and of every time she scolded me for not putting on sunscreen and getting a sunburn.
I somehow manage to connect this to my neighbor too. Maybe because of the color of his drums or because that day on the roof the sun passed through his dark hair as on a summer day.

Yet, despite all of him remembers me of the sun, the profound discomfort in his eyes is a rainy day. A hurricane that destroys everything in front of it.
And the thought of being in trajectory with that and feeling drawn to it as with a magnet terrifies me. Not only because of the imminent relationship with someone who is not in my comfort zone.
But also because, if in some remote case I had to share more time with Ethan, I would ruin him.
Because I too am a hurricane.
And I know very well that I'm not strong enough to resist such a catastrophic event as our collision.
Yet I cannot in any way stop this attraction of mine, above all because, since he surprised me watch him, the curtains of his room open more often.
However, convinced of the choice to get as far away from that walking danger as possible, I decided to limit myself to a few peeks during the day, also for the fact that if I continued to scrutinize his figure, he could call the police and report me for stalking.

But fate seems to want otherwise, because when I said goodbye to Olivia this afternoon to go to the roof, the door's key was gone.
Usually I keep it hidden in a crack in the wall that only I know of, but this time it was nowhere to be seen.
Neither deeper than usual, nor abandoned on the dusty carpet of the hallway nor thrown outside by some witty intruder.
I felt the world collapse on me and my breath get heavier as my heart increased its beats.
So, before anxiety could catch me on the top floor of that crumbling building, I went down the stairs holding my head in my hands.
And I saw him.
Maybe he decided to ignore me on purpose after what happened the other day, or he simply didn't notice me since compared to him I am a gnome who came straight out of a fairy tale by the Grimm brothers.
But I am grateful that he did.
I had the opportunity to catch him red-handed.
In fact my key jingled connected to a strange keychain thing - which he probably considered fashionable, but wasn't - and sparkled slightly under the soft lights of the room, swaying back and forth with every step the thief committed.
You will tell me not to jump to conclusions and that it could very well be any key; but I'm sure it was mine.
Because a short time ago, after the owner of the building gave it to me - in exchange of keeping the place clean- I tied a red ribbon around it to distinguish it from those of my apartment, so that Olivia couldn't get confused and mistakenly take it away with her.