There are times when the world falls apart.

Rain pours, thunder crashes, violence floods, pain ripples, people fall, life fades. Darkness consumes. In these times, the world is on its knees. We are weak; we are suffering. How could it have gone so wrong?

How could years of planning and working till we collapse lead us to this? How could everything we tried to achieve be used to knock us to the ground? How could we have let this happen? When did everything start to fall apart? Could we have stopped it? There must have been something we could have done differently.

There wasn't, though; that's the bitter joy of life, the ironic lie we make ourselves believe. We have no control over what happens. What we do is what we do. Even if other reactions could have led to different outcomes, we went went down the path we did. No amount of wishing would ever change that. This is what was meant to happen.

We are meant to fall, meant to cry, meant to break. Because only then, when we're at the edge, barely holding on to our last thread of life -of hope-

Only then can we get back on our feet, because getting up after you have fallen is more important than never falling at all.

Only then when hope is all we can hold on to do we see just how beautiful a sunset is.

Only then can we rise.