but it's not me

there was a time
when you
had to wait for
an answer
to arrive
in the mail.
a week might go
by with you
looking up
the street for
the mailman
and his leather
pouch holding
the answer to
your future with
this girl
you've fallen
madly in love with.
but not anymore.
you wake up
and open your
phone to see the
hurried, mispelled
words.
sorry. i'm not
feeling it. but
good luck. i'm
sure there is
someone out there
just right
for you. but it's
not me. ciao!