Often times I hear my mother cry when the house goes dark. Hearing her muffled sobs makes me wish things were how they used to be. Back when I was younger mother would tell me stories about her childhood. Living on a different planet that had bodies of water that went into all the way down to the center of the planet. How it was so dark down there that scientists got the term black hole from the ocean. Not the ones that scientists capsule up and turn into our trash cans.

Sometimes when the house is dark and I can’t go to sleep I recount my mother’s stories. Often imagining that I am my mother, living on a different planet and swimming in the ocean. I would lay on my back lets the waves wash over me taking me out into sea. I’d just lay there and float atop the salt filled water while the current washes me away. I’d look up at the night sky and see different shades of deep blues and odd purples. The sky speckled with little dots instead of the blinding suns that I’m so accustomed to. Watching as the moon changes shape from the full round, to completely black but still somehow visible, to a half circle and then to a crescent and then back again. And when I grow tired of watching the moon shape shift, I would plunge into the black hole and drift aimlessly into the nothingness until I fell asleep.