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

12

Tomorrow.
One word, eight letters. But every single letter of this word weighed so heavily on his shoulders, he threatened to break under the weight any second.
For anyone else 'tomorrow' was a word just like anything else.
Because no one would ever attribute such a meaning to this simple word like he did. These eight plainly seeming letters obscured a secret he hadn't found out even after eighteen years of searching.
Though it was more a riddle than a secret, everyone around him was aware of the solution while he still was blindly in the dark.
He already failed answering the most daily questions. It took him the sleeping​ at night and the living at day, but he didn't know how he should understand that.
It was the feeling rising inside of him whenever he heard the simple word with eight letters.

What will tomorrow be?

- I don't know.

It was a mixture of uncertainty and fear that made him feel the weird, dull feeling in his breast.
He didn't know it.
Didn't know, what tomorrow would be,
didn't know, what he would do tomorrow.
If he let himself get wrapped in the net of eternal monotoy, just like society had scheduled for him.
Maybe he would also overstep the limits, break walls and rewrite the laws.
But that which was for others seemly an exciting game of thought caused him such a discomfort, he sometimes thought it would eat him up from inside.

Daily bound at a desk for hours, attended by his teachers' piercing looks, who reminded him always once more what a hopeless state he was in. Everyday he asked himself the same questions.
Why? And what for?
An answer wasn't findable for him.

What do you want to reach?

- I don't know.

Days passed, but he couldn't solve the riddle.
He began to lose the belief in a tomorrow, didn't know what to do with all the time he had.
He wanted to break out of the infinite loop his life had ensnarled in.
But he looked for the key steadily unsuccessfully.
And the day came when he asked himself the one, crucial question he already knew the answer of, for longer than he wanted to admit.

Will there even be a tomorrow?

- No.

As fast as my happiness about my discovery of the new text came as fast it also already disappeared between the hopelessness and the silent cry for help being included​ in the text like a pattern.
But next to all the pain the anonymous texts spread on me again and again they were also like a secret, invisible friend formed of loneliness and fantasy only little children could have.
But this connection, which had meanwhile built between these still faceless words and myself, seemed to grow day by day.
I had begun to bring more sympathy and trust to a stranger's sentences than to my best friend.
They were like my complement that felt so identical but still so different. However, I was surprised the person had continued to write even without a reply by me, apparently my comment was redundantly.
But this made me relief since I didn't know what to answer this time just like last time, though caused by an unpleasant interruption.
Again my fingers went over the words, which have apparently been written down just recently, a little, petty gesture still giving me the feeling, I could touch and heal the anonymous author's soul that way, even though this was probably the most unrealistic wishfulness that had ever shaped in my mind. With slow, not really voluntarily footsteps I went back to the hallway, while my shoes' squeak on the smooth floor was the only sound revealing my presence.
I was only some meters away from the school gate, when I remembered that I had forgotten about the kinda most important thing.
As fast my legs did it - in regards not to make much noise - I sprinted back to the restroom and opened hecitcally the door to the last cabin before I fished my phone out of my pocket and photographed the text exhausted. Smiling I looked at the photo when I was about to leave the restroom. However, I didn't come that far, when I just noticed that I wasn't alone anymore.

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I guess y'all figured out who's the author of the texts 🙃
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