It’s been two months since I last wrote, but it only feels like a couple weeks; I almost didn’t notice. 

You’ve just put on a mask with magical powers. What does it allow you to do? 

Teleportation and the ability to exist in impossible circumstances. 

Look at me, back again for some more writing. I honestly don’t know if I should’ve done this one or just skipped it, anyhow...

Write an apology you owe someone. 

I am sorry I didn’t tell you, and I say that knowing you would hate this as a beginning. I am though, and I regret not saying good-bye even if you were mad. I assumed it would be for the best, a good scapegoat isn’t it? You tried knocking sense into me for those, thank you. I send messages and your responses don’t seem mad anymore, just distant. Pun intended. However, I need to say this, not in a telegram that everyone sees, but if--when we meet again.

The perfume I am not sorry about stealing, I’m sure you have realised by now and have bought many more. Maybe you have changed scents, ideally you have not though. I spray it around sometimes because it reminds me of home, that and the stuffy. Mr. Biddles, the precious mammoth and the only thing we ever shared, I think. The perfume is starting to run out so I’ve had to start using it sparingly. All of it’s atop my dresser: Biddles, the perfume, the family photo, and the box of gifts. I hope you know I didn’t mean half of the nonsense I said. I love you, and I think about you lots, Rudy. Annoying little brat.

I didn’t expect to be here again, but I have nothing better to do and a bit of writing seems pleasant. 

Relate something exciting that happened to you recently.

Two years ago counts, correct? May twenty-seventh at 23:07 I experienced the closest thing to magic I believe exists. I had prepared for this four months in advance when I first spotted the star forming. The team then sent me coordinates for an appropriate range to record it. Anticipation slowly became solemn as months passed and I realised I would probably have to return to course before I saw the star. Of course, when I least expected it, the ship began to rattle and I watched as a colossal light compounded itself into a star. I had never felt so small and insignificant in my entire life, and so wrought with indescribable wonder and admiration—the closest comparison I can make is my first memory of fireworks—then once the gasses cleared, the star was so luminescent it was almost blinding. In that moment, I felt like the luckiest person alive. I was back on course the next day and I doubt I will ever see it again. Somehow, that made it more special; it felt like my star. On the days when it seems everything was a waste, I rewind the tape and re-watch the star form, over and over again. My star, named after my street, my Abott.

I opened a gift today for what I assume is new year’s. Starting my 5th year away in space with a book of prompts. I might never touch it again after this, we’ll see. 

Write something you really want to say to someone but don’t have the courage to. 

This is a difficult one, as I haven’t really contacted anyone remotely recently. If I did I would avoid talking about how lonely it gets. Then again if I had someone to tell, it wouldn’t be as lonely would it? 

I’d yell at the galaxies if they were sentient. Maybe they are and maybe I should, but if they are and they get mad...they’re much bigger than I am. I’d tell them to show me some planets for once, instead of just an endless void of stars.