The first time you saw her, she had drifted into your apartment on the tail end of a gust of winter wind. She was just tagging along as a friend of a friend. Her starry eyes and half smile were what got to you, and they were enough to keep you around. You caught a glimpse of her reckless nightmare almost immediately. She was stuck in the middle of a downward spiral, and she took you along for the ride. You couldn’t seem to find a reason for it. She was just sad. Her body was made up of howling heart attacks and incandescent suicide notes. She was bad dreams, a fractured spine, lips hemorrhaging secrets, and ******* shoved to the back of a throat. She was laughter at four in the morning and daisies in a hurricane with dark hair and darker eyes, all wrapped up tight in a skeletal frame. She was your bulletin board of best kept secrets that you covered with love notes. You were always trying to glue her broken pieces back together, but her edges sliced your skin to shreds. She did not want to be saved.