plants; ethma

1;

Dear diary,

I pay close attention to little things, my parents say that it's because of what happened and that my mind instinctively tries to find a way to escape the firmness of my daily life and to not dwell on bad thoughts.
It's true, lately I've been using this method a lot for not getting overwhelmed by excessive negativity, but I've always paid attention to details.
Starting from what shines through the eyes to the movements of the body while discussing.
This is also why I found myself examining the two brothers who recently moved to the building next to mine.
Although they are twins, it isn't hard for me to distinguish them.

The slightly taller one wear one earring with the pendant of an angel's wing and his hair is more combed.
His style is so particular that I was tempted to design his clothes, or asking myself how some clothes I drew a long time ago could fit him.
Even if at first sight he appears self-confident, from the uncertainty of his steps and of his speaking, his insicure soul can be easily seen.
I hear him play the piano every now and then, he's good, too bad it's just sad melodies.
I don't want more sadness to come into my life so I close the windows hoping I won't hear the music anymore.

The other guy, on the other hand, has messy hair and a look that I oddly haven't managed to decipher.
His green eyes contradict themselves, they seem to show vulnerability, purity, but when in the most daily moments they darken almost becoming totally black, they intimidate me.
His eyebrows often frown in a serious expression and his features make him similar to a classic statue.
His mysterious beauty dazzles me.

I don't see him going out often.
His bedroom overlooks the small street that divides our buildings.
His curtains are always closed, but yellow drums can be seen reflecting the Sun in a corner of the room.
Maybe he likes playing too.
The rare times I see him is when I go downstairs for a drink at late night.
From the window of my living room I notice that the light of his room is on and I approach the glass, curious.
The curtains are strangely open.
The boy is sitting at his desk with a sad expression painted on his face and I wonder what disturbs him.
But before I can do anything, before my mind advises me to get noticed or to somehow help him, the dark-haired boy suddenly rises and turns off the light of the room.
I go back to bed disappointed.

The following afternoon I am, as usual, on the roof of my building, in the space I've set up for myself.
My secret place, do you remember?
I always go there to clear my mind and get away from negative thoughts.
I was sitting in the shade made by the power station and I was leafing through a couple of fashion magazines, bored out of my mind and eating a carrot.
To pay my rent and the costs of my apartment in general, I occasionally design clothes and send them through Olivia's sister, to sell them to stylists. I don't get much out of it, but it's still something added to the money my parents give me monthly.
This time I pulled out some old magazines I had in the dresser of my living room to find inspiration, but nothing seemed to catch my attention; the pieces were all identical or already too used.
I tried to sketch out designs to create later by myself, but most of them ended up crumpled in the basket of my room because they would be too complicated to sew or the prices of those fabrics would be way too high.
I keep the few ones that I like but that will never have life here in the diary, between one page and another.
But it's more of a secret dream than anything else, I know that I could never be so good to create my own line of clothing.

Then the roof door opened and I almost tore the page of the magazine, the boy from the previous night came out flexing his muscles under the white shirt and closing the door behind him.
He had a blue watering can in his right hand and for the first time I saw him smile.
I slipped slightly inside the power station hoping he hadn't heard me and I continued to follow his actions from there.