An old man looks back upon his life, knowing his end is near. He stares through the rain and tries to figure out the exact moment when his dreams died.
But there is no one moment. Dreams die by degrees. One tiny cut at a time.
You can miss the gym one day, or not ask that girl out, or suffer that terrible boss for another week. None of these individual moments matter. There’s always tomorrow to make it right.
You can put back your dream holiday, or promise to write that book later, or swear you’ll stop smoking after this one cigarette. There’s always tomorrow to make it right.
There’s no one moment when you fail everything you aimed for.
There’s always tomorrow, until there’s not.