if i could write you a letter

i'd leave it in your bed.
tucked neatly between your sheets, so you couldn't miss it.

but you wouldn't read it.

i've posed that trick before, you claim to have thrown it away immediately.
my words apparently mean nothing to you.
but i wonder if those fibers still exist somewhere.
tucked neatly into a drawer, so you can remember someday.

what is it you will recall?
the things you've said about me. . .
my smile, my touch, my humor.
will you remember my insecurities?
will you realize that you caused many of them?

and where will i be on that day?
probably nowhere near you.
hopefully somewhere happier.
hopefully somewhere more fulfilling, more uplifting.

probably somewhere where i am even less understood.
it's too bad you can't give me what i really need.

at least not yet.