
He is speaking slowly and carefully, accurately describing the verbal dynamics of what has just happened between himself and his partner. Several times she starts to speak, but he gently waves her off, saying that when he’s done, she’ll have her turn to speak. On he goes, deftly dissecting the tiny argument they’d gotten into five or so minutes ago.
She leans toward him, her eyes sad, her jaw tightening, as if fighting to hold back her speech; she is afraid that if she interrupts him, he will very likely label her as immature, or — though he’d never say it outloud — as a bitch. So she keeps quiet. Two more minutes pass. He’s still not done.
Finally, she breaks eye contact, looking down. He shows no sign of noticing. She’s thinking about leaving him, and he doesn’t have a clue. The signs are there, and have been for a while, but he’s missing them. When he stops a minute later, she has nothing to say. Tears cover her face. They never argue again. Such brilliant cognition, such an incisive, finely nuanced mind, but such emotional retardation — this is what she writes about him, a few months after she has left him. » Read more: Listening, and a Deeper Listening…