There were times she could pretend.

She would sit at the kitchen table and stare out through the clear glass of the window
at the leaves as they came and went.

Seasonal stoplights: green to red, green to red, green to red to brown to gone.
Green to red, green to red, green to red to brown to gone...and again and again.

In those moments, the transitions weren't so severe - her memories floated in a pool with no floor and without edges. Her pain, her love. She swam effortlessly. She swam in lush circles. She dove under, without holding her breath.

 Meanwhile,

her body, at the edge of space, would reach out to touch a star. She would singe her fingertips and put them in her mouth to feel the warmth against her tongue. She became aware of the cool breeze, the water clinging to her skin, the sound of the Drop and realize she wasn't looking at the leaves through the window, she was looking at the glass : Again and again and again.