Today I wrote your name in a Bathroom Stall
with the blue sharpie that was in my back pocket.
If my mother knew, she would probably cry,
and if my father knew he'd tell me his hope that it's "just a phase."
But you're not temporary, just like the blue sharpie I used to write your name.
I felt like a young rebel writing those three little letters for all to see.
More than likely nobody would notice, and those who did wouldn't care, but
that doesn't change the way I feel about you, or the way I felt when
I wrote your name in a Bathroom Stall.