The philospher Heraclitus once said that the only unchanging thing in the universe is change itself.

Meaning stability is an illusion, that there never really is a conclusion, no period at the end of the run on sentence that is life

You could describe me as passionate, a recovering pushover, pathetic, pretty, and that’s just where I fall in the Ps, but the entire alphabet could not define me. It’s this moment that defines me.

But this isn’t a story about how a moment changes you.

Truth is, I’m not that religous, but I believe in possibilities. Something with a capitol S.

No, I’m not talking about Satan or Spirits or the flying Spagghetti Monster

I’m talking about something more than what you can see.

But this isn’t a story about destiny.

This is a story about how death became an inside joke.

Looking over the edge, that time just before the sun sets, when it is so bright

Blue eyes on one side, soft hugs on the other.

We talked about our futures, college, and boys.

Downtown Saint Paul was shining, the High Bridge streching in to what appeared to be a wild forest from here, but I knew it was the west side.

I started to get this feeling I had in a dream once. Almost flying, my wings stuck together.

The sun behind blue eyes turned her into nothing more than a sillhouette burning around the edges

Walking home we came to a crossroads

A car stopped. Blue eyes ran ahead.

I started to get this feeling I had in a dream once. Almost screaming, the sound stuck in my throat.

A car coming too fast. Crash. Metal folded like paper before my eyes.

Blue eyes was flying no, falling

She was all I could see through the smell of smoke and gasoline

She landed with a thud and a scream

She’s dead. The words caught in my head like a fly in a web blue eyes screamed again.

Soft hugs ran across the street.

On the third scream, I could see again.

Dead people don’t scream.

“I survived. I survived.” Blue eyes repeated as soft hugs  searched her for injuries that weren’t there.

We sat beneath a tree, green leaves tucking us away from the smoking debris

and laughed.

We laughed as the paramedics came and went.

We laughed on the way home, while we ordered pizza, while we watched movies and whispered late into the night.

Days later, I found myself complaining to soft hugs about homework.

“Hey, at least your not dead.”

We laughed again.