The break of dawn. The end of peace. The songs of flower-birds herald the quiet pains of a new day. The forgotten regrets of yesterday, mercifully buried in the unconsciousness of sleep, rise again—slowly rekindling somberness. But what if each day erased the day before? What if every morning we awoke as infants, unburdened, untouched, innocent of yesterday’s errors? A tempting mercy—yet it would demand the death of experience, and with it, the wisdom suffering buys. Is that a price worth paying? Wake up. Stand. Yesterday is etched in stone and sealed in history. Take hold of today’s reins. Tread carefully through the minefield of choices before you, for the way you end this day will shape the dawn that greets you tomorrow.