There is this version of me, who likes to lie down on her bed and think of her blankets as death, the way they wrap around her with comfort.

This version of me will be the hardest to love because she won't even let your voice near her, let alone allow you to be near enough to speak.

This version can easily learn to un-love you in a heart beat. Even if she had convinced herself her heart no longer needs to beat.

This version only knows destruction and it will tell you tales of all those ruins she had left behind because she believed the only way to leave a place you once called home was make sure you could never look back and return to it.

Just like how she fights to return to a place where the beating of her heart is comfort inside her chest. A place were her best version lived, trapped to forever relive the moment she shattered into a million versions of herself- versions that hid themselves beneath the darkest parts of her.

If you are going to fall in love with me, find a way to get there. No one has tried. They usually stop at the front door, just after the door knob turns and the darkest version of me says hello.