her voice doesn't raise much more than a whisper...and even when she speaks she doesn't say what she means...she wears her heart on her sleeve...her intention is read clearly form the scrunching of her forhead and nose...her turned down lips...that judging by her words should have turned up in a smile...the way her eyes fill to the rim with tears...and the way they overflow...till the drops spill out like rain...the carefull tending of his wounds...that her touch not add to the pain...she knows only too well...that sometimes the cure hurts more than the blow...the grand gestures speak louder than words...and in a volume clearly audible to the spectator...there is no confusing whats in her heart...just silence the words...and hear with your eyes...