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

5

Just as my increasingly sleepless nights, my days were also filled with the anonymous author's words and didn't let any space for anything else in my usually big intellectual world. I even had the feeling it got shrinked to the size the anonymous words needed for themselves to cling to my mind with their unbridled power, while I was just letting it gush over me.
It was a miracle for me that words could have such a power.
Even though I, the one whose main essence of life was made of book pages of unreal worlds, should be familiar with that power. A statement making me think about it even more than it should. This was dawning on me when I found myself again at night searching up the whole text in the internet hoping to find an author,  who could take away that ghoulish aftertaste from my current obsession. Because, let's be honest, who has ever found such a masterwork in a bathroom cabin?
So incongruous but still affirmative to the words.
Because, just like the text gave you a feeling of loneliness and despair, the toilet cabin with its oftenly used function as a save haven was a set, which could be more appropriate. But when after two hours my research didn't have any results, and by that I mean an absolutely emptiness, I halted.
Which however meant to let the insanity or rather the obsession with this anonymous person in and let it steal my sleep again.
The fact that the author probably wasn't much older than me and was able to choose such an almost unreal seeming diction, gave me pause.
Enough times I had experienced what a destroyed and as incurable lonely as sick soul can be hidden behind the prettiest words, the best hidden so not even the most awake eye may spot it. What a not unlikely beyond recognition aspect, in case I'm gonna be lucky enough to find the author, gotta get expected? Especially since the text didn't prevent me from crying how would I react to its owner? Would his words be written on his face like a painting?
Or would he hide it into his soul's safest drawer, while he or she was waiting for giving its key to a person, who was aware of the true meaning of the words and wouldn't be tricked by a face's pretence?
And like invariably every time my philosophical seeming thoughts got interrupted by the teacher's attention, which was way too well-marked in my opinion, who had arrived at my desk with a few steps and a super annoyed gaze. In panic I rised my eyes and I looked at him expectingly to prepare myself for the imminent lecture. However, it never left my teacher's mouth.
"Detention. In case that will happen again I'm going to inform your parents." By those words he went back to his desk and continued the lesson as if this little interruption would've never happened. Teeth-gnashingly I tried to focus on the lesson for the last minutes, hoping for my teacher to have mercy with me and to free me from the detention. Again vainly, because even when I tried to persuade him after the lesson by having a discussion of at least fifteen minutes about my going-down grades and the bad consequences, I stayed unsuccessful.
I walked down the hall frustratedly and pitied myself silently, when I suddenly stopped.
My sight fell on the light blue door I had tried to avoid embittered the last days.
On the first day after the first sleepless night I didn't even have the courage to go near the boys bathroom, my fear of the disappointment expecting me when I'd see my little comment being without any replies was too big.
What exactly was the reason for me to have this fear I didn't know, I merely blamed my obsession about the author's identity, which has been torturing me every single minute since I had found the text. By every further day passing I unwittingly reduced the distance between myself and the implied door a truth was hiding behind I'd love to avoid the discovery of. But now I was standing here, hardly two meters separated from the door.
It would be a lie to say that I nearly couldn't handle myself of curiosity, because I hesitated about three seconds before I stepped forward to the implied door and pushed down the handle.
It was an unsolvable marvel how I even accomplished to sustain that long.
Nor I didn't know what gave me hope for a reply, even though the unlikelihood of the possibility clearly outweighed. My foot steps resounded echoing through the room when I overcame the last meters to the promising cabin.
For the last time I deeply breathed in and out before I inspected the wall filled with scrawlings, looking for my comment I wrote hurrying with my pencil.
But when I finally found it some seconds later, I didn't believe my eyes.
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