She drinks whisky

I like the way her long fingers drape around her whisky glass
She likes the sophisticated jingle of the ice cubes as she moves it to her lips
She revels in the cool touch followed by that wretched burn down her throat
She thinks this is pleasure but she just likes torturing herself
Someone didn’t love her enough in the beginning
So she’s been earning that abuse since then
Acting out her part in the narrative she wrote from her limited perspective
Always wondering why it doesn’t fit, she doesn’t fit
All her brilliance and her lovely long legs
She gets everything she wants but never grows
Never goes anywhere satisfying

I am confused by her
Her words make so much sense
And our wounds seem the same
By my body wont respond with empathy to those dead eyes
I have to really focus
My instincts are murky here
I give her patience, I give her time, I give her all the active listening I can handle
And when its time I give her hope, and the steady presence of my love
I cant tell how much she sees, but certainly she cant feel me
All the intellect in the world cant heal a human heart
All the right words, the right labels, the correct diagnosis
Wont bridge this gap between us
But I will be here
I can sit my whole life right here
Waiting in her eyes
Sitting in the truth

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