The beginning of the end of the beginning

You know you'll end up with a knife to your throat, just as she lays one to her own. Smoothing and grazing translucent skin, waiting, itching to make that first cut. And she hammers you down with every glance, every word, every sigh. You know you'll end up weeping on the floor, as she does every day, with her legs gathered by her arms, her fragile armour against the silence and emptiness. And she causes a tear with every thought, every annoyance, every insult. And you know you'll end up as broken as her, picking up the pieces every morning, to be left in a heap again every night. And she breaks a piece off with every word unsaid, every kiss unreturned, every gaze not met.

And you know she'll self-destruct, and take you with her.