Today's reality is not the reality of tomorrow.
Who's to say we are going to wake up in the morning
Feeling the dew on our foreheads and the sweat in the crevices of our limbs?
Who's to say we'll feel our eyelashes flutter against our skin and our tongue against our lips?

The world is a constellation of lasts.
We never leave without closing the book, scrawling little notes in the margins.
Who's to say we'll wake up tomorrow?
Who's to say our lasts have not already been written?