what bubbles to the surface

these faces, these many faces. i know them well. and yet each time i see them, i find myself surprised. i read them and note how the raise of an eyebrow or the glint of a smile means one thing. and not the other. i play them like stop-motion before i sleep and categorize them by color. purple ones have short bursts of questions, sentences lilted. blue are muffled. yet warm. maybe my colors are not the same as yours.

dash is a filter for synapse. his brain, his face. bundles of nerve endings with no inhibition. he laughs and cries at the same time and doesn't apologize for it.
one of the greatest games we play is watching what bubbles to the surface.

finn is a performer. she writes her own songs, gives new meaning to spoken word. her dancing is inspired and her imagination is paved with multi-faceted stones and newly minted words. point a camera at her and she will move with each click of the shutter.
one of the greatest games we play is watching what bubbles to the surface.

i look at pictures of myself before i had children and i see different faces entirely. this has less to do with age and weight fluctuation than with expressions, windows. depths of pools. i used to wear the burdens of my past mistakes and regrets like a badge, i wore my childhood like a silk sash on windy days. i could not possibly see what i would look like after children of my own. the scars on my body and the warrior wearing thunder like a bracelet. my face is less at peace than before, yet more peaceful. i am rippled with the honor of too much love. it doesn't always suit me well. sometimes, in fact, i think i twist it too hard trying to wring it dry and it wrinkles and needs washing. i am constantly shocked by how much fear and love and frustration and joy can simmer under the top layer of my skin at any given time. this is the armor we wear as parents, yes? we hold it all in behind a hammered shield.
one of the greatest games we play is watching what bubbles to the surface.

~just write~