Your face is your autobiography. And in any case, it is a story about change v. stasis. What you did v. what you didn’t do. What you felt. What you conquered. When you failed. When you figured it out.
A. The traces of requited and unrequited love. The signs that you lived your life in the sun instead of in a closet. Proof that you raised your eyebrows more than once in amazement, awe, disbelief; and that you lowered them, on occasion, in disapproval or merely to take a closer look. B. Cousins of A, these two little marks on either side of the bridge of the nose, belong to scrutiny. Caring. Listening attentively. Or watching history unfold. Trying to understand. Saying, if necessary, “No.” A genetic gift from your mother. C. The curve from the nostril to the edge of your lips. You smiled. You talked. You spoke your mind. And smiled some more. If you don’t like the way it looks, just keep smiling. That’s where it belongs. D. Tiny lines above the lips? Good girl. That means you do your share of kissing. E. Something under the mouth you don’t like? Don’t worry. It gives you gravitas. F. Laughter. Lots. Apparently. G. A little puffy? The ultimate sign that you’ve burned the candle at both ends, just because it shed such a lovely light.
The reading between the lines: Sorry, can’t reveal that here. Mysterious. Private. Not for prying eyes. Suffice it say, however, that without the lines, there’d be no “between.” Just a blank for all the world to see.