“There are kinds of pain that you can't speak out loud.”
“Even though it hurt, there are kinds of pain you couldn't speak out loud.”
“Until I understood why you didn't cry, even though it hurt: there are kinds of pain you couldn't speak out loud.”
“...to speak of them out loud, to speak of their hunger and pain and loneliness and humour, to make them visible so that can not be ravaged in the dark without great consequence.”
“Speak up, Charlie,” I say. “If you have something to say, then say it out loud.”
“I draw in a ragged breath, the kind you take when the pain is too deep to cry, when you can't cry because all you are is pain, and if you let some of it out, you might cease to exist.”