❝Bathroom Talks❞ m.yg x p.jm [eng trans]

4

With slowly heavier getting lids I looked at the ceiling swallowed by the darkness, while my thoughts weren't showing a single sign of tiredness. And while body and sense were fighting about mastery, minute by minute elapsed, an end to my inner conflict wasn't seeable. At last it was my mind winning the race about my undivided attention, while my tiredness had to queue up behind. Like on clouds my thoughts floated to the anonymously perpetuated masterwork I couldn't get out of my usually easily distractible mind.
Questions over questions began to wrap my thoughts like spiderwebs, one apparently even more impossible to answer than the previous one. But even more interesting than the reason, why such beautiful and compelling words had found their end in the inside of a bathroom cabin, was the answer of the question, who was hiding behind this artwork made of letters and sentences.
The subtlety and the thorough choosing of the words would've made me conclude of a girl, but the fact that I found the text in a boys bathroom dashes this theory inevitably.
That a boy could bring up such a sensibility against words I'd never have occured. Of course, the text clearly spoke about a male protagonist, but this mostly doesn't matter for the author's gender. As well, I had the question, why I was hoping for a reply despite the undeniable unlikelihood of getting one. Indeed, my belief wasn't nearly there, but I just hoped thereupon. As much as my life would depend on it. I had extended my short life uncountable times in the characters of the most different books, I had been trekked through the most merciless wars, I had lost an unimaginable number of secondary characters by the author's dramatically​ tuned fantasy and have died a thousand times, as well magnitude as secretly and tragically, - however, never ever a single tear had honored my anguish, that was caused by a story, with its presence. What makes that text so important that it even shaked my happiness deemed to be rooted deep in my soul? A question I couldn't explain to myself with the best will in the world. Restlessly I rolled in my bed sheet, which got crinkled by every move I made, hoping, a good position for sleeping could be the key to my missed sleep. But just like always my noisy thoughts in my mind foiled me. Since I obviously wouldn't get calm again that fast, I risked the attempt to read myself to sleep with my book I luckily got back from the confiscation.
But no matter how much I tried to focus on the letters, which were printed on rough paper in black ink, and to make them build a door to a foreign world, my efforts kept being unsuccessful.
Instead, the untidy but still concise writing edged the vulgar and thoughtless scribblings and comments of perpetuated words aside.
I was in the mercy of a stranger's words, he had taken my thoughts and my mind gaplessly and I just waited desperately​ for my imagination to get captured again by him.
While I was thinking about that, my thoughts got weirder from minute to minute. Annoyed I pushed my head into the already crinkled pillow and squeezed it against my ears. Against my expectations my thoughts began to fade away littlemeal, until they disappeared into the nowhere. Because of my relief I forgot about the fact that my pillow's stuff took the oxygen from me, so some seconds later I was laying on my back again while gasping for air.
It took me some attempts, until I finally drifted off to sleep.
However, not without feeling this strange tingling in my fingers, its reason my drowsy body was to tired to find.

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*coughs*
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