Even if we could turn back, we’d probably never end up where we started.

I understand that I need to believe in heaven. I need to believe in a heaven for those who have suffered and died, like the young girl in my city, like the old man I had known. I need to believe in a God who smiles and treats all his children alike. Who tells me that it's alright to not understand the world and its ways, to not know what to do with my hands on some days, to not know what I'm talking about. She says quietly as she hugs me that I must put up a brave face nevertheless. I must believe and move on. It isn't easy but it is the only way. And everyone's doing it. The bug of melancholia has bitten some and some are crying louder than the others. But everyone's doing it. Everyone's carrying on.