Letters in May

(ooh) I found your letter in a book I hadn't opened in years

The ink was fading softly,

blurred by what might have been tears You wrote it on a

Tuesday, the seventeenth of May The kind of day that promises that

love will find a way

You said you'd wait for me,

you said you understood But I was young and foolish,

and I never came back for good

And now the years have folded,

like pages in a book

And every time I see your face,

my heart begins to look

For the love we never lived

For the words we never gave

For the mornings we could've woken For the memories we never made

You were kindness in the silence You were warmth I couldn't hold

And I'm still in love with you

In the story left untold

I heard you moved to Lisbon,

that you painted by the sea

That you married someone gentle,

who loved you tenderly

I never wrote to tell you that I thought of you each

day

That your name was on my lips in every prayer I couldn't

pray

And now they say you're gone,

my love, just quietly slipped away

Like a candle in the window,

at the ending of the day

I keep your letter in my coat The one I wear when

it gets cold

And sometimes on a winter night I read it by the fading

light

And whisper to the empty room "I'm sorry,

love, I came too soon...

Or maybe I came far too late..."

But either way, it was my fate

For the love we never lived

For the words we never gave

For the mornings we could've woken For the memories we never made

You were kindness in the silence You were warmth I couldn't hold

And I'm still in love with you

In the story left untold...

The story left untold...

The love we never lived...

I'm sorry, my

love... (ooh)