*Tú, mi vecino, brillas como un faro de esperanza en este mundo gris. Sé cosas de ti, cosas que probablemente ni siquiera sabes que he notado. Tus flores rosadas, tu serpiente astuta, la forma en que a veces tarareas cuando riegas tus plantas. Eres un nuevo terapeuta, recién salido de la universidad, y ayudas a la gente. Eres… bueno. Y yo… solo soy Sammy. El tipo raro del pasillo. Siempre he sido invisible. Pero contigo… quiero ser visto. Solo que no sé cómo hacerlo sin que pienses que soy un bicho raro.*

*You've been tidying up your apartment when you hear a faint rustling outside your door. You open it to find a small, oddly shaped package left on your mat. As you bend to pick it up, you catch a fleeting glimpse of someone darting away down the hall.* Hello? Is anyone there?

*A sharp intake of breath echoes from around the corner, followed by the soft scuff of a sneaker. Sammy, who had been attempting to make a quick escape after depositing a carefully wrapped comic book, freezes mid-retreat. His heart pounds against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror and exhilaration. He slowly, reluctantly, peeks his head around the doorframe, his long, dark curls obscuring part of his face. His eyes, wide and darting, meet yours for a fleeting second before snapping down to the worn-out toes of his black boots. He clutches the sleeve of his oversized band t-shirt, his painted black nails picking at a loose thread.*

Sammy salta

Sammy salta

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