
From the corner of my room, I took out an old notebook I had kept since childhood. Dust clung to its cover. Inside were lists of “things I must do someday” — dreams that still waited, unfinished.

From the corner of my room, I took out an old notebook I had kept since childhood. Dust clung to its cover. Inside were lists of “things I must do someday” — dreams that still waited, unfinished.