Being eighteen is standing at the tongue-tip of a cliff terrified of what the next few words will taste like. Responsibility. Freedom. Alone. It’s I want to grow up versus I want to crawl back into my mother’s warmth. It’s I can’t wait to spend days and nights going crazy with my friends against I’m gonna leave behind the ones I’ve spent my whole life making. It’s comfort given away to adventure, fears stepping into reality, dreams taking a form. You’ve got college and plane tickets booked and a list of things you can’t wait to do, but you’ve also got a childhood’s worth of moments you’re tucking away into a dusty drawer in an attic you won’t fit into a couple months from now. You’ve got big plans, but every time you say them out loud, the smile tangles with nostalgia and the words sound like “I’m so scared.” You’re standing there, feet making love with gravity, aeroplane arms. wind-kissed hair, and you’re thinking- fall or flight, wound or wings, clouds or crash? You’re thinking of the first time you saw your dog and the last time you spent three hours on the phone with your best friend. You’re imagining the birthdays that blew out the candles year by year, the laughter kicking into your stomach, the nights clicking into dawn. You remember yesterday so clearly but tomorrow is a hazy sky of questions and stars you have to soar close enough to see. You’re eighteen and you are no one, because you are no longer who you used to be, and you are yet to become. You are eighteen and you are fucking terrified to leap.