Miss Fortune

In the years since the crash I have scoured the memory of that night. One part of me wants to clasp my eighteen-year-old face, pull her towards me and scream as loud as a fighter-jet, LOOK OUT! But, looking back, what would I want to do differently. Would I warn her what was going to happen? Perhaps not, perhaps I would say nothing at all. Impulsive, childish and foolish, I now know there was no better way for her to go but forward, to drive head-first into the unknown. To fall forward into life. Because if she hadn't, then I wouldn't be where I am no, about to do exactly the same.