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.


Some moments.


Some feelings.


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.




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