She writes him once again, on flowered stationary that she found in a drawer while searching for a pen. She draws in little bees that attack the flowers and trees. And the fuzzy little Hallmark squirrel in the corner's having a good old laugh at the tear stains on the wasted paper. Another defenseless tree gives it's life up to a letter he'll never read.
[ "I've been thinking about you. And, I don't know where to begin. And, I don't read your letters so, don't waste them." ]
She runs out to the mailbox and, again, she's met with nothing. "Mister postman, look and see. Don't fuck with me." She writes him once again, on happy face stationary, and she notes the irony of all those grinning faces in contrast to all the tear stains on the wasted paper. Another defenseless tree gives it's life up to a letter he'll never read.
Tears well up in her eyes as she writes him "one last time..." Every letter's the same old line: "I think I'm slowly losing my mind."
No answer, no closure. This door's left wide open so false hope can walk right in.
[ "I've been thinking about you. God, I don't know where to begin. And, I've been writing you letters. Don't you get them?" ]
[ "I've been thinking of moving and you won't have my new address. So, I won't get your letters, so don't send them." ]
