I have nothing to cry about

Life is good. It's far from perfect, but I'm perfectly happy anyway, because it is infinitely better than it has been. For that I am grateful. To whom I am not sure, but I am grateful nonetheless...

Everything always works out in the end. It often seems like it's not going to, but it has to, doesn't it? It doesn't really have any other choice. Or should I say, everything that is bad always comes to an end - even if it is death that causes that end. What I am trying to say is that nothing lasts forever (even cold November rain? Or, in the recent case, June rain? Or was it May rain? I can't remember, and it doesn't matter anyway. My washing dried in the end.)