It’s a soft sound, at the edge of my hearing
A crinkle, like something rustling together under the covers.
It doesn’t sound like air exploding out of a thin membrane.
It doesn’t sound like the violent thing that happens when you slow it down and watch.
It’s organic shuffling.
Socks on carpet when you are trying to get
static electricity built up to shock your brother.
It’s peaceful, a murmur of things moving around, slowly deciding to leave.
A decision to end when the pressure gets to much from the air around them.
Or when the friction holding them together becomes too light.
The sound of bubbles choosing to let go,
to move onto the next adventure, to release the air inside of them,
to become part of the bigger world and bigger space.
Sounds of bubbles creaking and breaking and expelling and bursting.
It’s the sweet sound of transformation and rebirth.
————————————
My bubbles are broken.
They started out looking like slightly blurry circles within a circle.
Then they got shaded like they were trying really hard to say I’m here but really, you can look right past me.
Then they got bold, less like bubbles and more like swirling colors of shades trying to mix and blend together.
Like bubbles told to look like bubbles but also make a statement but still be bubbles that don’t command attention but get their attention anyway because otherwise what’s the point of you being a bubble that we’re choosing to display.
Bubbles are hard.
