I have an urge for the insane, for the thrill of living. I cannot stand to sit and wonder about the “what ifs” or the “if only”.  I have an impulse to leave, to keep driving, to throw my map out the window and trace the atlas engraved on my heart. I have an urge to run, to leave the menial behind and escape from comfort and security. Take me far away from the matchbox houses with the people inside who live a lie. I want to meet the ones who are not afraid to be mad. I want to dance with strangers in cluttered living rooms while listening to songs that make me happy to be alive. I am desperate for an altered perspective and to have conversations with travellers whose only comfort is the open road. Let me dance through rings of fire with fairies who play drums in circles, let me get lost in the song of my ancestors. I do not care about trivial matters, I care about what you ache for, the thoughts that consume you to your core and keep you up night after night. Show me your scars. I have a desire to drink lemonade in the desert and paint moons on my lovers back, the desire to live fearlessly.  I want messy love, sweaty love, broken love, to become my own, to be gorgeously human.