Am I 'Absolute'?

138: Lonely Lola /2

Lola's friends say:
You know when she is about to say something difficult because there is a pause, a slight hitch in her sentence just before the word that hurts her so badly is said by her own mouth. Then she waits for a while before continuing as though trying not to break on that word. She does that now. Lola is quiet and avoids any eyecontact. She says. "Ever since mum... went... I can't seem to smile without hurting so badly on the inside."

Lola's anger:
I'm gonna care again tomorrow. But right now, I'm gonna sleep away my explosive fear

Lola read the book 'Ten Thousand Doors of January' and now can't help but appreciate and examine all the words she says or speaks. The world has a hollowness. It's as though the edges to buildings and streets are fraying and falling away, as though the bright colours have been dulled by a storm of rain. As if people are tripping over their own existences and overlapping themselves just to take the next step in their walk. Maybe warmth has no sustenance now or the gnawing wind can be forgotten. There is an absence, a section, a sizeable, noticeable hole in the value and observation of what she sees through her eyes. When she comes to meet loved ones you can see the walls lining her being, feel the push of rejection weighing in her movements as she first approaches you, searching your whole. You can almost graze the layers of years of hurt and rejection from around her with your fingertips, feel the sharp, large gouges torn out of her trust and hopeful expectations. It's only when you smile to her to show her you love her, only when you take the next step towards her in welcome then her walls are loosed. The chains slackened and from then she will share all the love she has to give, all the appreciation and gratitude that can possibly be contained in her small world.