days of love an thanking - sleepless version

The sky is clear in Sydney. 
I love living here. I say that a lot. I can't say that enough. I have also mentioned that I live in quite a particular place and I am glad it is so! It couldn't be any other way. 

I never have problems sleeping. But I do today. I took an extra shot of melatonin just to make sure Morpheus would visit me soon. Not happening...

I confess. I am a slave of work Monday to Thursday, a lazy student Thursday and Friday, someone who works for other Saturday nights and a devotee of bed Thursday  to Sunday. I know, a lot of people work Monday to Friday, many more hours. Teachers out there will undestand that we get a lot of unpaid working hours. Atleast 3 a day. I just have a very strong opinion on how working isn't really what we came to do in this world. Thankfully my work allows me to learn lessons of life. Sometimes. Not often enough. 

There is a meteorite rain coming soon. And here I am under the clear skies of the Southern Hemisphere hoping I could get a glimpse. Not the right side of Earth. Our universe is so crazy...

Before going to bed I got out the house to greet the clear sky, the well attached stars, the grey cat outside.

And then... a white VW Golf drives past me and stops on the curve. I know that car. It belongs to Scott (I think it's his name), our neighbour two houses down in the impossibly rich Vaucluse. I always wondered what I'd say to him if I ever met him. How  old he'd be, how'd he walk, talk... We met today. He run past me. He said: "Hi" in a friendly tone. I uttered a longish clear: Hi, as if I had been waiting for him. I had. 

Scott has attempted suicide twice this year. It fascinated me in a strange way. What would make a person who sits on the firstness of the First World attempt suicide? 
What would I say to him if I met him? "Hi", is a start. 
I could finally put a face and a body to that dark-ish suicidal neighbour we have gossiped about on night in nights. We know his name bacause the Paramedics tried to ressucitate him last time and they called his name. I saw the ambulance, but never heard them call him. Somebody said.
I live next door to a person with a suicidal history and now that I put a face to the person... How can I express? I looked at him in a... "Wait, I know who you are" attitude. And we have maybe more in common than we thought. Not that I am suicidal. Maybe I hold on so much to life that the thought of deciding when to end it always keeps me thinking.

Would these encounters ever mean anything? Would I be able to say more than"hi" to him?
In my mind I did. I hope he got it. 
I always think that people who attempt to finish their lives are afraid of dying, more than we can ever think, they jump into their fears. They want to stop a sharp pain, but because they want to live again! It is so extreme, yet such a strange side of human beings.

Today, after 2 years I met my suicidal neighbour. It's giving me another reason to stay awake and a reason to write. 
He's lived more than 2 years next door to a house full of life, stories, love, madness... he is oblivious to it. We are oblivious to his everyday life. We are so close to each other, but we have such worlds apart. 

I wonder what haunted him and hope it never ever does. Again. Drop by for a coffee/wine/those spicy chips Jeffrey buys obsessively and places on the kitchen table!. Check these stunning sunsets, our clear skies without meteorite rain! ...if you ever feel the burden is too heavy
- yes! that is what I wanted to say!