I could write. Maybe I should write. No. It’s just an excuse to fill the silence, to avoid the conversation. It’s the fear of brass heavens. No, that’s not true either. It seems like you’re speaking but I’m having trouble deciphering the sounds. I’m catching pieces, phrases. What are you saying? Perhaps I don’t need to know. Perhaps I just need to keep doing one day at a time. But I do need to listen. I need to be in tune to your voice. To hear, regardless of whether I understand. To be directed, even when I don’t sense I’m being directed. So, I will stop writing and listen.