I know this girl, English heart and golden ribs. She reminds me of all the things I have got no name for. I can't stop looking at her. She speaks not when you expect her to. She speaks not to break the silence. If anything, silence is the closest I've ever got to knowing her. She speaks in a language you wouldn't understand, but would remember very clearly when you take a few steps away from her shadow. I can feel her presence even if we're almost too apart for our eyes to meet and here's what I once told them: if the curtains were drawn, you will know one way or another that her body's standing still behind. And when they asked how, I told them that she's quiet, but her heart isn't. They thought I'm mental but they don't know the first thing about me knowing the first thing about her. She's terrified of life, yet has all four elements that keep us from dying. She's killing me and I'm only halfway through her head. She's killing me, and I can't stop looking at her.