And when you thought that it was safe to go to the attic again...
How can the past, with such short legs, caught up with us when we are running so fast ahead?

Silky ribbon hiding in attic’s darkness,
used to be red but showing fading brown,
tying yellow envelopes used to be white
with written addresses all forgotten now.

Trembling gnarled hands by accumulated age
that open some letters full of promises old,
little white lies flying in so many dreams
you believed then, but you don’t believe now.


Between the lines were so many dreams
and promises of a never ever dying love,
ink mixed with tenderness sincerity tears
all of it compared to reality is so silly now.

Inside them you will see yourself young,
years will meant nothing…they will not
interfere with any of tomorrows letters,
you didn’t cared for time as you care now.

Secrets, how many secrets you have kept
under all your sad smiles nobody knows,
lovers are the most cruel of all creatures,
you didn’t know then but the pain is now.

Where’s she? Where’s him? Maybe hiding
in the attic’s shadows, someone you forgot,
how painful was the last letter written by the
hand you loved but that you don’t love now.

Letters, where all the promises are gone?
the postman, he really didn’t twice ever call,
as life passed altogether without stopping?
suddenly, your yesterday has become now.

The familiar Dear Sweetheart got so blurred
when the eyes read the ultimate Dear John,
that the letter that day, like an autumn leaf,
felt from your hand then, as it is falling now.