I wrote to you asking you to forgive me
and received nothing in return
after seven weeks.
I sat at my kitchen table, elbows up
staring at the white walls
as I pondered over whether or not 
I should try again 
although, I told you I wouldn't.
I toss around the idea
that maybe you never
received my letter,
that it was swept away
by the wind from the mail truck
before having the chance 
to be delivered to your door,
just as quickly as it came
I dismiss this idea
knowing in my heart that
it's untrue and unrealistic,
picturing you reading
my letter, tears forming
in the corners of your hurt, blue eyes
as you toss my letter
of your favorite purple paper
that I rewrote four times 
into the trash can, 
screaming into my ears
that the trash is right 
where my feelings belong,
believing you can't forgive me
as you move on with your new life
even though I know
you'll never forget me