Love on bathroom walls.

And on the walls of the club bathrooms that night, I found splinters of you.

Over the course of the year, I have examined countless scribbles on the walls of club bathrooms. I found love everywhere: above the locks of cubicles, across bathroom mirrors, in between the toilet roll and the sanitary bin. I found love all over. Something about those four walls brings out the hopeless romantic in us all… making us reconsider a love of the past, or hyper-fixate on a current situationship that really isn’t that deep.

And on the walls of the club bathrooms that night, I found splinters of you. Your stupid little scribbles were all over, and I couldn’t scrub them off.

I found love in many forms on those walls. It was romantic, it was platonic, it was love at the hands of a shared hatred. Little hand drawn hearts were everywhere, each characterised by their artist’s personality. The word ‘love’ was sprinkled all over; unavoidable as soon as you stepped foot inside the four-walled castle of the dilapidated porcelain throne. Love was obvious, love was subtle. I found it over and over again: those happy little scribbles on the walls.

The words were all silly, and they didn’t make much sense to my friends. But I knew. I knew you had been there. And I knew the love was one sided, that you hadn‘t thought of me when you picked up that red sharpie and put it to the tile.