Your dream is the mole behind your ear, that chip in your front tooth, your freckles.It's the thing that makes you special, but not the thing that makes you great.The courage in trying, the passion in living, and the acknowledgement and appreciation of the beauty happening around you does that.

My eyesswollen with exhaustion,my body sputteringon its way down,but my dream won't stop crying,screaminglike a colicky infant.Sometimes I thinkit needs to be changed.usuallyit just needs to be fed.

One thing I am now certain ofis that this road less traveled hasin factbeen traveled by far more suckersthan you think.All of us out here,slumped over wearingweird fakebroken smiles,trying to avoid the truth:That we all have road rage.

Dreams don't have timelines, deadlines, and aren't always in straight lines.