I'm sending this postcard because I know you don't care. That little fling we had? That little knee-wobbler up against the bins? It meant something to me. It felt really good. But I guess you don't feel, or if you feel, you bury it down inside a large chasm in your heart. If you have a heart? Don't you? Those looks you gave me burned and continue to burn like a forest fire igniting everything in my life, until all I have is this postcard and these words.
Oh, this is going to be fun! Every postcard I send to you will be a reminder. You will have to wake early every morning in order to save your marriage. You will not want your daughter to ask questions. For every postcard you shred there will be another winging its way to your letterbox.
Call me your postcard woman. Until, that is, you agree to love me.