Interesting Facts about Space

by Emily R. Austin

I struggle to stomach sincerity, or to express any authentic emotion, because everything feels insincere when you suspect that deep down, in the chasm of yourself, the most sentient part of you is a little ill-intentioned monster. I feel like a husk, like I am being gradually taken over, and that all my feelings and thoughts are tampered with.

Sometimes, when I’m grocery shopping, or out minding my own business, a little voice in my head reminds me that I’ve made my mom cry before. I wince at fleeting recollections of myself being terrible. I have this deep sense that I’ve done awful things—that I’ve really hurt someone—but I’m not sure if I actually have.