My name has been written in a piece of letter, waiting for me to come for a warm conversation. I was lost... I was swimming into the imagination of the melancholy. Leaves were embraced in the street. It was autumn. That tree has got red hair... In her hair I found a photo. I found you memory. I looked back on the portret of that girl with red hair. Her hair was a leaf from that tree, waiting for other leaves for company. It was her... the girl who waits for me.