"They don't really talk. To each other, or to us. See, as a family, we never really talked. So when I married a man who also was unable to talk to me, I didn't recognize the danger in that. I never felt the danger at all. Until rather than speaking to me in words and sentences, he spoke to me in empty dark eyes, and a rough touch, in order to convey the words he couldn't say. We didn't really talk. I try to do my best to not be like him, and them. But I'm still learning. How to speak what's on my mind without burying it, how to tell the honest truth whether it hurts someone else or not. I'm still learning. But I like to think that talking sometimes, whether it makes sense or not. Is improvement. It is isn't it? To try to speak even when your tongue is caught up in a mess. Even when your thoughts say things that scare you, it's improvement right? To talk anyway? I like to think so. See, we never really talked. So I'm still learning how to. Forgive me, I'm still learning."