“Carta” (which means letter in Spanish) feels like opening a hand-written note that still smells of rain. Mexican singer-songwriter Silvana Estrada turns an on-again, off-again romance into a poetic seesaw between freedom and attachment. She admits that both lovers are free to leave, yet dreams of a moment when words are unnecessary and a single glance can say “I love you.” The lyrics weigh the thrill of independence against the ache of separation, painting two silhouettes who keep walking away only to look back at each other.
Rather than surrender to constant good-byes, Silvana offers a daring pact: slow down, breathe, and build a home in each other’s skin. She imagines running under an open sky, reinventing time, and laying down emotional “weapons” so fear no longer drives them apart. The river of love may never flow in reverse, and even she might leave one day, but “Carta” invites us to choose presence over precaution. It is a tender anthem for anyone caught between running away and coming home, reminding us that real courage often sounds like a quiet, steady promise to stay.