Asking Too Much

From the Confessions of a Depressionist poetry

I'm waiting here, for you to love again
and I know that forgiveness is easier said
the moments fade like falling leaves
emotionless
and the pain was a well placed shot
but the heart is always an easy mark
can it all be taken back
can it all be forgotten
can the blade that stabbed your back
be wiped of all the evidence
or am I asking too much