I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself

by Marisa Crane

If I had to choose, I would say the moment between when you decided to kiss me and when we actually kissed, that is where I wish to live forever. Inside my anticipation, dying to receive you.

The usual questions plagued me: Help whom, do what? Can there be help without hurt? Can I trust the impulse I have to help others?

What I found in the Infinity Room: the universe sounded suspiciously like the interstate. Nothing was magic after that.

If you researched the pathway to change, you’d notice the graph looks eerily similar to the pathway of grief. Both more or less begin with denial and end with acceptance. According to whom? I want to ask.

“Forgiveness,” he said. “And what if they don’t deserve it?” “What is this talk of deserve? What does that word even mean?” he said.

Sometimes the story isn’t even a story. Just a single moment.”

Here’s the thing: when an insect grows too big for its exoskeleton, it sheds it, a process known as molting. This may sound benign, but insects cannot breathe while molting. They must stop eating and lie very still. Completely incapacitated, they are vulnerable to a predator attack.