Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life.
This second is the only one I have any guarantee of.
I wonder why I sometimes think that imagining what might be or might have been
makes any sense at all?
Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life.
This second is the only one I have any guarantee of.
I wonder why I sometimes think that imagining what might be or might have been
makes any sense at all?