Her laugh sounds to me like a wallowing willow swallowed in the darkness on the day the moon is not yet whole. Her smile to me is as forced as a poor man is to make ends meet.Her face is permanently stricken with a painful expression forced to be upkept or one would see the sorrow in those lines of furrow. Yet something about her is so very unique. not quite descripable not quite complete. as one thinks about the young girl here in front of them they don't know. they don't know of the illness of sorrow.they try hard to understand coming closer to the pit. falling in down in despair only strong ones come out safe. the contagious disease of seepening grief.once it spreads you cannot turn back. you will be looked at as she was by you and she'll have a friend. to join in her pain to laugh with much fear like a wallowing willow as hope disappears.