Yesterday I wrote your name on the door of the women's restroom.
At that kind of moment, I feel free enough to think of you.
I saw you there with someone else on the bed, my stomach twisted and twisted as if I was still an teenager.
I was on a plane, I think of you to prevent me from the fear of dying in the air, alone.
Looking at you I feel my soul was leaving from my body and was trying to following you to the hell in the fire.
On the door, I wrote your name, and,
"I am married but I love a woman."
On the wasted land of time, I am a traveler with nothing but your name,
Unspoken behind my lips.