When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing how I had been living, they asked me why, but there’s no use in talking to people who have a home.
They have no idea what its like to seek safety in other people. For home to be wherever you lie your head.
I was always an unusual girl. My mother told me that I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing due north. No fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as 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.
Who 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.
