In the past I've told myself that ghosts weren't real. I wanted to believe that no creator,

whether benevolent or simply apathetic, would condemn someone of that kind of half existence.

But never forced that kind of irresolution on someone who didn't deserve it.

During college I often found myself arguing this passionately, with people who claimed

to have first-hand experience dealing with the supernatural, who claimed I've seen with

their own eyes the apparitions and spectres of the spiritually undead.

I dismissed their claims, insulting a lack of empirical evidence and laughed at their

anecdotes.

When I was seventeen my girlfriend, very first, died in a car accident.

It was only her third time driving since getting her license.

And the first time she had driven alone on the highway.

We lived in a small semi-rural area and barely had the need to venture beyond the simple

two lane roads.

I was proud of her.

She'd always been terrified of taking that first step.

I wanted to let her know that she was going to be all right.

I sent her a text message, confident that she wouldn't read it while driving.

She did, apparently.

And that brief lapse and attention caused her not to notice a shift in traffic and a

series of small yet critical events played out which led her to eventually crashing,

rolling her car several times until it came to rest.

Her upside down.

...