I was in the winter of my life. And the men i met along the road were my only summer. I fell asleep with visions of myself dancing, laughing, crying with them. Three years down the line of being on this endless road tour, my memories of them were the only things that sustained me. My only real happy times. I was a singer. Not a very popular one. I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet but a plot of a series of unfortunate events saw those dreams down. They crashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that i wished on over and over again sparkling and broken. I didnt really mind it because i knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is. When the people i used to know found out what i had been doing, how id been living, they asked me why but theres 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 i had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing to the north. No fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean. And if i said i didnt 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. There was a fire for every experience and im searching for freedom. A terrifying point that i couldnt even talk about. And pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that dazzled and dizzied me.