Interesting Facts about Space

by Emily R. Austin

When I think of her, rather than call her or text her a message that says something like, Hey, I’m thinking of you, I tell her interesting facts about space.

I hope there’s an alternate universe where my mom is married to some kindhearted man who loves her. I hope she has a sewing room, and multiple well-adjusted kids. I think that would have happened if I weren’t born. It might have happened if I was a different type of

worry that I am a shell for something bad. That deep down, in the spot where most people keep their souls, I keep a weird little bug. I picture him there, leaning on the apple core of my soul, crunching on what remains of what’s good of me. 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.

There is something soothing about being rejected. It really anchors you in your body. It feels like a bath.

My skirt soared around me like the rings of Saturn.

The top of his head seamlessly flows into the nape of his neck like he is a monstrous earthworm.

I spent a lot of time growing up trying to seem normal. Sometimes I worry I neglected doing the internal work most people do while they’re developing; I was too preoccupied camouflaging. I think I might be stunted because of it. I think I missed a step.

“I totally get why you behaved that way.” I don’t often feel like anyone gets why I behave the way I do.