whiskey sour

The whiskey sits still in the barrel, ready to fall and shatter under the masses,
It hasn’t matured yet, it never does under this kinda of pressure
But how can she know any better?
How was she suppose to know he wouldn’t be able to hold a glass to you,
Does anyone…
Does it even matter that she’s trying to find a replacement,
When she knows deep down they will never be you,
Your whiskey tastes sweet, sweeter than what’s left in the other barrels,
Or it did..
Does it still smell the same, taste the same as she remembered,
Because I want to know,
Need to know,
My body aches for more than a mere replacement.