so while the other boys
tug at my skirt,

           buy me beer,

write me songs

           I still mostly
      forget about them
                   when I go
          home at 1 in
                              morning.

But you,
            for some reason

get my hopes up
                in the worst way.


When the rain falls
                and thunder strikes
                    my tired
                               red head


I still wait for

                       the mail to come.


No letters from
                     You yet,


but I can't tear
    my eyes away
          from the mailbox


      Because,

                      I guess that
              would mean



                            giving up hope

                                                 all over again.

And
            
I don't think I
                could do it twice.


I don't think I could let you break me

                         a second time