She was all instincts. The girl trusted, No, believed in things she couldn’t see. Intangible things, like the fact that good people don’t hurt other people, like “just knowing” things. This immature little thing used to hop around with a passion and a fire in her heart, and her heart so big, so big, like a cloud in the sky, loved, loved and felt life so intense that at times it was overwhelming and she would cry. There was no detachment between her soul and body, they were just one, and that caused problems and she is sorry and she said it, more than once, too late and she never understood… never understood… never understood why… and she clings to the uncertainty since her big heart became small and covered in salt from the tears she cried. From a storm, a tranquil river made her feel alive, and she was no more. Because she learned to be someone else. She took the ball of fire in her chest, put a wine-colored sheet around its light and bit her bottom lip so many times, while the river run inside of her. Nothing, nothing coming out, not since she promised herself she wouldn’t cry, no, she wouldn’t cry again. Maybe sometimes, maybe when “why” was asked too loud. Its low voice, the question’s voice is low but not quiet, as long as it remains unasked, or as long as it remains a question a two-drop stream will run down her face. That will be it. Questions kill, cover fires, deflate hearts. No Instincts, now it’s all at a slower pace. she won’t trust her soul or give herself away, not without a safety net, not without self- control, she hates the lack of fire in her cage, hates the self-restrain, but she needs to be safe… safe, like she never needed to be before. Tranquil and tender love, the one that seeks to hold hands, the one that wants to wait for the long embrace, not until she know his eyes, not until she sees her own and after she stops seeing the ones who made her cry, maybe … a tranquil love with a peaceful stare, not too too far away. Never the storm, not anymore. Just a calm and gentle state. She is not herself, she is someone else. But she likes it better now, now with no rush, no stretch towards the infinite, no need to be eternal, no need to be alright. Floating, like a soul at birth.