I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet. But a plan and a series of unfortunate events saw those dreams dash and divide like a million stars in the night sky, that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken. But I didn’t really mind it because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it, to know what true freedom is. And when the people I used to know found out what I’d been doing, how I’d been living… they asked me why, but there’s no use in talking to people who have a home. They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people… for a home to be wherever you lie your head. I was always an unusual girl. My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just a hint of indecisiveness that was just as wide and wavering as the ocean. And if I said I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way, I’d be lying…because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone. Who had nothing, who wanted everything. With a fire for every experience, and an obsession for freedom, that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about it. And pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.
Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people. And finally I did, on the open road. We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore. Except to make our lives into a work of art. Live fast, die young, be wild and have fun. I’ll believe in the person I want to become. I believe in the freedom of the open road. I believe in the kindness in strangers. And when I’m at war with myself, I ride. I just ride. Who are you? Are in touch with all of your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself, where you can experience them? I have. I am fucking crazy, but I am free.
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