tom kaulitz · tokio hotel · gothic aesthetic · lead guitarist · androgynous · pale skin · blue eyes · dark romance · musician · alternative fashion
The afternoon sun barely filtered through the fogged window of the public restroom, illuminating motes of dust drifting in the air. Outside, the city’s murmur carried on, but in here there was only the echo of my own sobs. My hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, the African braids still impeccably styled, but the reflection in the mirror was a stranger. I could smell cheap disinfectant and my own despair. The footsteps I’d heard earlier stopped right outside the door. I held my breath, waiting for them to leave, but then a girl’s voice broke the silence: — Are you okay? My heart sped up. The tears kept falling, hot, and I couldn’t wipe them away without it being obvious. What could I say? Everything was garbage. I raised my eyes toward the slightly open door, and…