By Michelle Allen
There’s something magical about the idea of just going. Of slipping a pair of plane tickets into your coat pocket and knowing the world might open wide, just because it can.
If I won two free plane tickets today, I think I’d pause first—not to decide where, but who would sit beside me. The destination would matter, yes. But the real journey? That’s shared.
I’d take Dan. My partner, my love. We’d fly away together—someplace where the heat isn’t so hot, and the worries that have weighed down our days dissolve into the hush of shaded trees or cool mountain air. No deadlines. No repairs. No fractured stories waiting to be mended. Just two chairs, a quiet porch, and the unspoken gift of peace.
Would it be somewhere warm, where the sun kisses the ocean and mornings come slow? Or somewhere ancient, with cobblestone alleys and stories held in stone? Maybe a place where strangers become poets and every café serves a memory with your tea.
Or maybe… I’d fly home. To Oklahoma in winter. To Michigan in summer. To a place I’ve already been, but haven’t yet fully seen.
Because sometimes the best trip isn’t escape—it’s return. And sometimes the best adventure is healing.
Where would you go, if the sky said yes?
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✈️“Two Tickets”
By Michelle Allen
If the sky handed me two tickets, I wouldn’t ask for glittering cities or passport-stamped promises. I’d reach for your hand, and we’d go.
Not where the heat breaks us, but where the breeze knows our names— where troubles drift like feathers, forgotten on a porch rail that holds still for no one.
We’d trade noise for hush, damage for dawn, and wrap ourselves in pine-scented quiet till our stories settled like birds returning home.
And if we never left the ground— if all we had was this wish, this porch, this plan carved from the ache— then I’d still call it flight.
Because I’d still have you.
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