Wall Words

A fluorescent hum, a chill so thin,

the air is stale and spent.

I opened up the stall door in

this place of blunt intent.

And there it was, a hurried scratch,

against the pale green paint.

A lonely heart, a hasty match,

a lover's mild complaint.

Just initials, crude and deep,

a name I didn't know.

Secrets that the walls will keep,

where hurried people go.

A moment's mark, a thought etched low,

before the flush, the turn.

A seed of feeling left to grow,

or just a lesson learned.