LinBrightmoon

I had an out-of-body experience at the age of thirty-one. Every year between the ages of ten and eighteen, I sent a letter to NASA.  I told them a little bit about myself, the same general description year after year, and always insisted that despite my medical condition, I would one day love to sail through the stars.  My dream was to be out there in the universal abyss, exploring every unknown corner until we knew all that we could. Art would taunt, “Sick kids don’t go to space” before Mom slapped the back of his shoulder with a spatula. NASA was as nice as they could be, but the bottom line was that we all knew I could