Stonecrop Magazine

I’m gonna tell a lie, you scream. Nobody lives on the moon anymore.

You are adrift in a black hole of alcohol again, but I understand what you mean. I pretend to, at least.

I stuff your lost wallet into my bag, your phone in my pocket. I think of ringing your ex-girlfriend. The one who fucked you up. The one who doesn’t live on the moon anymore.

You’re a worthless piece of shit, you say as I drop you into my car like a heavy asteroid. You aren’t my first girl, but you have way more experience than I do. You use this against me frequently and always say I’ll eventually go back to screwing men.

Fucking worthless piece of shit.

You won’t stop saying this to me.

We arrive at your house and find your astronaut chickens clucking across the street. This pisses you off, and you blame me for uncooping them from their wiry spaceship, although I did not. They look like angry, miniature velociraptors without direction or design.

I finally understand what happened to the dinosaurs, I say, my joke evaporating into dead atmosphere.  

* 

I drag your planetary body up the stairs and flop you on the porch. Your lip ring orbits your mouth while you breathe, when you snore.

I pull your phone from my pocket and read your transcripts.

To: Space.

From: Earth.

She loves me more than I love her.

It bums me out.

I asked her to move in with me, but I want to break up with her.

You know I still love you.

I’m just dating her to distract myself, no matter what I post on Instagram.

I let myself into your house and grab your duvet. Back on the porch, I cover the constellations of your body, set your alarm, tuck your phone into your hand, and leave before the disappearance of our galaxy catches and steals my breath.

I remember your wallet, still in my bag, and toss it into the light years of your yard.

I am done.

After takeoff, my car slams into a wayward astronaut. I imagine the bird flying straight to Earth’s only natural satellite, arriving to find she is all alone in space, all alone in her synchronous rotations of abandoned tides and blue-black night skies.

I begin to understand she’s the only truth out there.