She is going.
I imagine her on the plane, mind brimming with possibilities and anxieties
She’s probably wearing those hippy pants with the beaded drawstring and the red elephant print
I know she’s typing away on her laptop, chronicling her unprecedented adventure

She is doing.
Everything we say we’ll do on late nights with that sense of invincible potential
She overcame the lingering doubt, the pessimistic thoughts that loiter in our minds
and trash our belief in possibility

She is being.
She is living.
She is trying to be more than just a name scrawled in the universe’s book, an afterthought.
She will be a page, a chapter.
She will do more, she will be more, she is more.

For some, letting go is as easy as untying a bow on the back of a summer dress
Letting the strings softly slip through their fingers
Feeling the cotton threads and whispering goodbye

The field is filled with hazy summer light and nostalgic perfumes
She licks the wine off her fingertips
And smiles at him with a grin that hints of cinnamon

They lay among the fireflies and junebugs
Minds in faraway places
Hearts anywhere but here

She can hold the sadness that fills his eyes
In the palms of her hands
But she cannot keep it

He tells her that she reminds him of gossamer
She twirls her hair in knots
He touches the strap of her dress