I have never been have I no she has never been no she says you have never been and condemned for it. When I tell the story out loud when I hear my voice telling the story when I say the words that form the story when I say the words and I watch her face when I say the words and I hear myself say them I am shocked by how straightforward it sounds. The banality of harm. Its continuity. Perhaps more so perhaps also perhaps most of all perhaps most hard to say I'm embarrassed by it. How I let it go on for so long. How familiar it feels to feel ashamed. As if the alcohol never left the system as if the alcohol is still flowing through the body-which-is-a-system as if the alcohol is corroding our veins as if our blood is turning to liquor as if our pulse is slackening as we remain acting as if veins do not lead to the heart. Why have I been unable or unwilling to act as if this matters. In her eyes so much compassion that I almost forgive myself.
