You do not mind what others think of you. I admire that, have always admired that in fact. You are different and free and uncomplicated. You pick up blue beetles from the trackway when they have landed on their little backs. You carry the insects caringly in your hand. A few saved beetles later you throw them into the bushes like they mean nothing to you anymore. 'They would have died anyway. Now they still have a chance,' you say with a smile when I ask why; why throw these beetles away after you just released three of them considerately on a fern?

You watch YouTube videos about stray dogs and terminally ill kittens that are granted a second chance. They stir you, those videos. They are tearjerkers for you. I don't understand why you watch those videos if the awful pasts of those saved animals make you utterly sad. You say it's part of life, that you rather do know than live in happy ignorance.

You feel most fortunate when you look at stars that shine bright in an unpolluted sky. You complain about the light pollution in The Netherlands which you did not even manage to escape in the Achterhoek. You laugh and the next moment you are crying, because the moon is so beautiful, but because of the lights you can witness nothing but a fraction of the billion stars in the sky.

I think you are gorgeous when you shine, I cherish you when it thunders in your eyes. For a long time I had been blind, but now I can see the darkness that hides inside of you. It's so dark that you often say: 'I don't want you to see it. I'm afraid it will overshadow you too.'

I do not let you chase me away with sinister words, with supplications on the bad days. I hold you close when you threaten to fall into the abys, prefer to go down with you instead of letting you go.

Your name is velvety soft on my lips, but you shake your head whenever I say it. You do not want to hear those syllables; you only want to be you whenever you're with me, nameless, unborn almost. Whenever I spread my arms around you, you start talking. You imagine that, for just a moment, you are back in that big nothingness, that you do not exist yet. You see a light at the end of the tunnel – life is waiting for you – but you don't want to leave just yet. It is silent in that state of pre-existence, so unbelievingly silent that you are scared I will let go and you have to come back.

You love the song of Alvaro Soler that carries your name. Sofia, I often dare to sing along, softly, because drawing attention was never really your thing. You do seek it, the attention, but only because you have gotten lost in your own mind. You're lost, alone. I try to be your guide where needed, hold up the lantern that keeps the monsters at bay.

Sometimes, you softly try it: 'Sofia.'

You used that song to teach me why it thunders within you, why sunny never really is sunny for you. You love the song because it's not as rosy as it sounds, because it tells the story of two lovers who both have to find their own path in life, with opposition it seems, and that may just be the magic that makes it even more beautiful. 'Love is a social construct, a belief everyone has, but it's actually just an addiction to the dopamine your mind releases whenever you see your partner.'

Your mind doesn't release dopamine, or at least not in sufficient quantities. You try to be an epicurean. You tell me you are overjoyed whenever we cross the lake together in a longboat while the sky leaks water. But you're not: you find peace in the misery reflected in the circles on the water's surface. You see freedom in the small wave that accompanies the prow. You find reassurance in the waves we leave behind on the lake, waves that slowly disappear.

It thunders within you, but I love you nonetheless.