the trouble to with supposing.

I suppose I should write something, to give this page some type of expression. Of course, that means I cannot hide behind an expressionless face. If I were hiding, the soft skin between each of these lines would give me away. A dimple is too little of an expression, a smile is too much. Though, if I were hiding, even a soft-skinned dimple would give me away to those who could read my blush and creases so well. I have no need to hide from them, thank goodness. To those who cannot read me so well, any wrinkle would be a line of words. My smile is only a picture to them, I suppose. Ah, unless their eyes be keen. And then, I might only suppose so, while an unexpected reader finds soul. Like a lost melody that drifts through the trees is discovered to have come from a nearby stream.