We are, I think, our dreams, no better, no worse. Every day we make choices about who we are, who we want to be. Every moment spent in anger is a piece out of our souls. Every day lives in a fear is the first death, in small bits and pieces, long before the other. Every second of regret is a lost dream. Tonight, I returned to Kinney Road, where I chased my dreams, fell in love, fell apart, saw my soul blow up that cold and lonely and beautify road. I chased after it. What were my dreams? To find love? To love my work? To shed anger, fear and confusion. To live my life. To be fulfilled. Still chasing, always and forever, every second, every day, each moment.