I would tell you something about the lives of women, but if I dared such a foolish task, would you remember this? Fire will not sit calmly upon my palm, and the ocean only ever runs through my fingers. I've never captured the winds in these meager hands, and at best grazed the surface of this earth's layers. If I whispered something about the lives of women, or roared or howled or sang or cried, would you remember this? If I told you something about the lives of women, would you know I told you everything I could, and yet I could tell you nothing at all?