another excerpt //
Out there are stars.
Black. It’s like when I would lie on my back in a wave of grass with the girl from down the street—the one with braces and lanky limbs—and look up at the night sky. We’d squint at the stars, telling ourselves that little pinpricks of light were connected by invisible strings. They were constellations, something bigger, but I could never see them. It was just a bunch of stars to me. My neighbor would point with her finger upwards, tracing the constellations as she would see them. But I could not. My eyes were not her eyes, my view was skewed, so I could never really see what she was painting.
Out there is nothing. A vastness that I can’t comprehend.