I miss the unabashed weirdness of my younger self. As a child, my favorite animals were cows and owls. When my friend group decided we should all go by pseudonyms, I asked to be called "Moon Girl". I would write stories in blue crayon about princesses and magic rings and intergalactic empires. I sincerely believed my life was a movie, or some television show, and that somewhere, someone was watching me on the other side of a screen. I thought my parents could read my mind, that all parents could hear their children's thoughts, but that they'd been sworn to secrecy. Before I could read, I associated words with colors and textures. The only words I still associate with colors and textures are the days of the week. I used to think whole universes existed inside my body, whole mechanisms and societies that functioned to take care of me. Whole universes inside of seashells and flower buds and grains of sand. Sometimes I still think it's the case: there are whole universes inside the caps of pens.
