She reminded me of broken vodka bottles, unkempt beds, cigarettes, dark rooms, slit wrists and blood. She was chaos and insanity. There was fire in her eyes and storm in her heart. She was the tempest itself. She loved playing with fire, she never learned to play it safe. Caution was a word that bored her. She was the wind, free and unruly. She could not be pinned down by the world. Self-destruction was a trait that came to her naturally. She was suicidal and full of life at the same time. She was never good at fixing things. She was hauntingly attracted to all things broken and bruised. The universe danced in her eyes and beat her in ribcage. Or was she the universe itself?