while floating aimlessly through the vast emptiness known as Space,

i came to an e-pip-ha-ny—

why is that word spelled with P’s when it sounds like F’s?

and why does it start with an E when it sounds like an A?

Afifany?—

excuse my tendency to fall off topic.

what was the topic exactly?

oh, of course. my reflection. 

i learned this week that if you’re nice to strangers

they might give you stuff!

a Space Man and his Space Monkey—

which i didn’t know existed until recently— 

gave me a bundle of ba-nan-as just for waving!

and also i learned that fruit has fun sticky paper on it

that makes my skin itchy and bumpy and red.

i don’t think that Space Man wanted that result.

i’ve decided that i am going to be like the Space Man and the Space Monkey

because the ba-nan-as made my whole day, possibly week, month, year?

Why wouldn’t i want to give that feeling to someone else?

i also feel as though it takes more strength to be upset then to not,

because it’s hard to live my life with weights on my shoulders,

or chains around my ankles or both of my shoelaces tied together—

speaking of which, i learned a new method to tie my shoes

from an old lady who sailed by in a Space sailboat—

how does that work anyway? there’s no air in Space.

it doesn’t matter. that’s not what’s on my mind.

what i’m trying to say is something along the lines of—

i’ve found a way to control my emotions,

so if i tell myself that i’m going to be happy that day,

then i’m happy—

but i can’t help but stop and wonder—

what’s the cause of emotions anyways?

i feel no need to go back and change my words

because words have no structure,

or bones or muscles or organs or any other icky stuff that People have—

because words are just words.

but words are special 

because you can re-ar-range the order for a different meaning,

or stress one word more than another or change the font or make it bold or italicize—

who would have thought that a random a-ssort-ment of black lines—

Could make me feel something?

i know the Moon Man will tell me the answers once i reach Him.

He knows the answers to every question—

or at least that’s what i’ve heard,

from strangers and tourists and wanderers of the stars,

who had also dreamt of someday meeting Him.

y’know, sometimes i forget that i’m not the only one

who stares up eagerly at the Moon every night.

i guess the thought just slipped my mind—

though it seems like all my thoughts are constantly rotating around my head

like they’re snow in a snowglobe or hands on a clock or fish in a tank—

i try not to think of big picture ideas

because they aren’t as fun as little things—

but every once in a while,

i like to imagine someone a thousand miles away

staring up at Moon Man

and pondering a question.

it wouldn’t be surprising if someone was doing that right this very moment.

We all see the same moon, don’t we?