The sound of falling stairs.

I think this is the end.
That noise from twisting metal pinched at a window frame it is the deconstruction of bridge we built between our lives.
In our ever strained awkward silences and angry glances we spend our time misinterpreting every word and gesture given by the other.
Every attempt to make peace turns words to stops signs, and smiles to knives.
I'm not sure how much more of the fighting I can take.
It hurts me.
More than she will ever know.