His hand trembles uncontrollably as he attempts to put down on paper the incomprehensible feelings raging in the furnace of his brain, and thumping out a crippled rhythm in his sick, wounded heart. He understands the pathetic desperation of this sad, useless exercise in futility: Will he ever be able to write it? Will he have the courage to send it? Will she bother to read it? Will she give one single damn about it... about him? His lip quivers from unspeakable sorrow as he finally slaps the stamp on the envelope, while his eyes well-up, and his nose turns red. His heart racing in fear and indescribable, overwhelming emotion, he mails it off at last, somehow knowing the truth already: Although he managed to write it; although he found the courage to send it; although she might just read it... She won't give one single damn about it... about him.