In my life, I’ve always been a fugitive.
If I don’t like something, I leave. I scatter my photos, give away my clothes, get rid of my books, sell my shoes. I move. I change boyfriends, haircuts, countries. I learn a new language. I trample my past deliberately. While avoiding my mirrors I repeat to myself that only the future matters. Making a tabula rasa of my life is my way of becoming someone else, or rather, of trying my best to become someone else. I’m just hoping its always for the better.
