My mother started cutting when I was nine. On Sunday afternoons, she'd sit at the kitchen table arranging coupons into what looked like a coupon-themed game of Solitaire. She'd tuck a few under he ... [+]
Observation: the freckles that map her body are as limitless as the stars in the night sky. Beautiful possibilities and encounters flood my mind as I wonder, “what makes her soul dance?” I romanticize a possible reality where her and I melt into each other’s existence. But alas, it is all in my head. And the pit of unfamiliarity is a loud reminder that her and I are in different worlds.