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 it’s 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 I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indeciviness that was as wide and as wavering the ocean. And if I said that I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying - because I 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 point that I coudn’t even talk about and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

Every night I used to 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.

I believe in the person I want to become, I believe in the freedom of the open road. And my motto is the same as ever - I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I’m at war with myself - I ride. I just ride.

Who are you? Are you in touch with all your darkest fantasies?Have you created a life for yourself where you’re free to experience them?I have.I am fucking crazy. But I am free.