The weight of his hand in mine pinned me to him,

like heated lead or softened steel.

Skin to skin-

whiskey neat against peached porcelain.

“I’m listening.”

Two words, a command, really.

Meant to bridge the deepening gorge between us.

Silence.

Swirls of phrases stained the tip of my tongue,

but they were phantoms,

there and gone without any connection to sound itself.

Peeks of interest from a chocolate gaze.

Assessing glances.

The tightening of those whiskey hands.

A release of tensed breath.

“Jess.”

My name, both a plea

and shard of anguish

hitting my chest directly.

More swirling phrases,

bits of feeling I can’t make sense of

floating up to the surface to be released.

Inhales of shaky breaths,

readying for the shock

of sound to finally break through.

Then,

nothing.

More silence.

Droplets of grief and frustration

leaking from honeyed eyes.

Whiskey hands tightening.

“I’m listening.”

An understanding.

Patience.

Compassion.

The same words as before,

but holding a world of emotion inside them.

More tears,

releasing this time,

a waterfall of hurt pouring out

as the world outside flickers

by the passenger window.

Quiet sobs.

Those whiskey hands gently squeezing.

“I love you.”

That chocolate gaze

holding my honey eyes in place,

seeing the raw parts of me,

maybe even seeing the phantom phrases

I can’t release.

“I love you, too.”

The lift of intertwined fingers,

whiskey bringing porcelain to his lips.

“I love you, too.”

Silence,

a comforting blanket this time

and the weight

of whiskey

warming porcelain fingers.