Sometimes, late at night in the hotel room, after the lights have gone out and the mistakes have already been made, when it is heavy and silent and still, I lie awake and listen to my pulse on the pillow...

Imagine you are on a tour bus, the miles whistling away beneath you as you sleep. Tomorrow you will wake up in downtown Somewhere. It doesn't matter. All the skylines look the same. Time is only marked by events. The world is on a first-name basis with you.

But you...you barely even know yourself. There are those who give in completely to the idea of what it means to be famous. And those who can't ever seem to leave the past behind. Life is a deep and contemplative story stuck on repeat--love, loss, self-destruction, self-discovery.

If you could go back to the way things were before you made it...would everything still be gray?