[0254]

"Writers are forgetful but they remember everything. They forget appointments and anniversaries, but remember what you wore, how you smelled, on your first date. They remember every story you've ever told them, but forget what you just said. They don't remember to water the plant or take out the trash, but they don't forget how to make you laugh. Writers are forgetful because they are busy remembering the important things."

I saw this and it made me smile. Because it reminds me of so many people I know. It reminds me of all the passionate busy-bodied people in my life because the same words can be said about more than just writers. It can be said of anyone with a fire in them. And so it made me smile. 

[0253]

I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell asleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three years down the line of being on an illness road to earth, my memories of them are the only thing that sustained me and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not a very popular one. I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet but upon a series of unfortunate events, I saw those dreams dashed and divided 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 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 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 home to be wherever you lay 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 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. 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 to me the point 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, have fun. I believe in the country America used to be, 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 of your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them? I have. I am fcuking crazy. But I am free.

[Prologue and epilogue from 'Ride', written by Lana Del Rey]