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

14

Shattered I kept rocking the handle and pulled it down, whereby every try remained unsuccessful.
Panicked I turned around to the mysterious boy, hoping to see a similar reaction of him.
But again I got disappointed.
As if we would be stuck in different time zones, while his had stopped and only waited for the frozen watch hand reigning over his time zone to unfreeze, he still stood at the same place, as untiring still standing like a stone.
Disbelievingly I surveyed him.
How could someone, who had such moving words which brought feelings to life, be the epitome of stalemate himself?
As his look stultified itself as well his physical and mental shell seemed to push each other away from each other and still could connect within their existence.
He walked some steps towards me and stopped after some seconds, having a certain safety gap, probably because of my previous, rushed reaction. His glimpse went to the door and his head moved askance in a hardly recognisable angle.
"Has the janitor already locked the doors?", he asked calmly what I couldn't relate in such a situation. Blankly I stared at him. "How can you be that calm?! We're confined, damn it!"
But instead of expectingly waking up from his trancelike state and sharing my panic he was the one now looking at me blankly.
"Is being with me that bad?", he asked after some seconds, the hurted sound in his voice opposing to his still motionless visage.
I opened my mouth in aim to reply something, but he seemed to have stolen all the words from my mouth by asking this question, without wanting to give them back to me.
But apparently he has never had the purpose of waiting for my reply, because he turned away from me now.
With steps, seemingly lighter than a feather touching the ground, he walked to the low windowsill and sat on it, his legs cocked and facing the sky blurred by the milk glass.
I don't know how many seconds or minutes passed while I was staring at him, like he was a mysterious painting, its background wasn't traced even after a hundred years. Just when I felt my heavy eye lids and hurting limbs I became aware of my enormous tiredness.
I kept staying there a bit lost for some seconds, before I approximated the windowsill with anxiously quiet footsteps and ensconced myself like him with cocked legs.
The fact he was silently staring at me the whole time made me feel as well unpleasant as salvaged, I didn't know how to understand that even rudimentarily.
Instead of keeping on thinking about that, I returned his look and again eternities beyond time and space passed, in which his eyes clutched me and encouraged me to ask the question finally burning on my tounge like a not quenchable fire, since our previous meeting.
"Tell me more", I requested quietly but firmly. He seemed to be a bit confused but didn't say anything, whereupon I expressed myself more clearly. "Your story. I want to know how it goes on."
Now he seemed to understand, but he hesitated.
"If it was a story, it would have as well a beginning and an ending as an order", he answered drily.
It made me smile a bit and I said:
"Who says that a story has to have an ending or a logical order? You're the only one being responsible for your story's rules."
As expected his face didn't show a little move, but I meant to feel a little more relaxed atmosphere than some moments before.
He only nodded slightly, though you could see the least nervousness despite his face of stone.
I made my position cozier and was attached to his lips like a drowning guy, when he began to narrate.

"Barely anything is that coveted like the only true and undeniable truth we use to cool down our minds burned by lies to escape the nets spun by intrigues.
But the truth is like a shadow, impossible to grab for us.
So not even the smartest can catch the shadow of truth for himself as long as it doesn't want to be caught.
The truth is like the stars at the sky watching over us - never missing, though it only shows itself at the right time at the right place, following its own rules and laws whose disclose we still dream of today.

But this truth is a two-edged sword, its blades couldn't have been sharpened more differently. One being so gentle and tender, giving us the relief we were desperate to find.
The other one so stabbing sharpened like the pain in our breast, when it's tearing our soul in single parts we have desperately tried to hold together as soon as it's spoken and recognized.
The truth is moodier than a child, unpredictable like the future and though easily being overlooked like the inside of our fellows.
This truth, why I know it that good?
Why I'm talking about it like about a long-standing and intimate friendship?
Every evening, when the sunbeams' energy gets taken and they leave our confined visual field, that's what comes to me. The truth I had tried to avoid with the last tag of my power so often already.
But in the night's darkness, in the eternal blackness's silence, there it's waiting. Prepared to ornament its thousand blades with my always existing pain flowing in my veins like blood, so we'd always be connected to each other. It doesn't let anything untried to release me from the slavery of my own formed lies, or to make me observing to its own will.
Nurtured by my tears, satisfied by my never fading scars, it's looking down on me with satisfaction, on what it left over of me. Satisfied it disappears in the dark of the left nightly hours, leaving me with the inside of my soul.
After long times of wondering I got it. I got what my bare soul was made of.

Nothing."

~~~~~~~~
Who wouldn't like to be stuck with yoongi?
~~~~~~~~