I know her. I know her very well. I have known her for so long that I lost count already.

I know what she likes, what she hates and what she can stand fifty-fifty. I know that she cannot stand the cold and for that reason she always carries a jacket. I know she likes to talk about anything and meet people, but sometimes she is very shy. I know that she is afraid of the darkness and she always sleeps with a light on. I know that if she could always eat, she would do it without hesitation. I know that she loves to dance and she is best at it.

I know she does not like to wake up early, but she would love to see the sunrise. That she stays up late to see the stars. That she sighs while looking out the window. That she listens to sad music and cries when she does it. That she clenches her fists and closes her eyes tightly when it happens. That she covers herself with the sheets to stifle her tears. I know that she wakes up with swollen and red eyes. That she lies every time I ask the reason. That she craves to shout what she feels and what she keeps within. That her heart doesn’t belong to me anymore.

I already lost her long ago, but she is now sitting next to me in the passenger seat, while I drive to God knows where. I know that I cannot ask her, or comfort her, even embrace her, because if I touch her my skin burns and my heart trembles. Because I know she’s deep inside it and I cannot get her out, and if I try, I could rip it.

My hands are shaking, my throat dries, my eyes become crystalline; and she notices it. She knows. She knows everything. Like I know all about her. She looks at me a moment and looks back at the window. My heart gives his last heartbeat and I wonder at what point I let her escape. At what point I neglected her heart. At what point my sheets became warmer than hers. At what point I heard her crying and not wiped away her tears. At what point she shouted my name and I covered my ears.

I can only keep eyes fixed on the road. It’s late at night, but no stars are seen, there is no moon, and the only thing that illuminates the road is the headlight of my car. Silence reigns inside. She no longer sings, she no longer puts her music, and she does not speak. I hear her sighs raggedly and my heart shudders.

Do not cry.

She sighs again and I don't hear her moves. She has fallen asleep, and I want her to dream. I wish with all my strength that she dreams, and that she does it with me. That she dreams that nothing hurts and that the course of time is n