Seven hours to forget.

There probably is no such thing as rock bottom. Every fall to somewhere seemingly lowest only carves deeper into fake ground, making available more space to fill with heartaches and diffuculty and of course, the self. Nothing is too low to curse never to be in again. Life is too unpredictable to be sure about.

Wallowing is such an easy thing to give in to. When there are fewer people to look up to and count on and love, when there's nothing but air to grasp right at the moment of fall, it's hard not to just break down. And for how long it takes just pretend there's nothing else to think about but that tearing what's left whole apart. Because though it's hard trying to understand what pain there is to feel, it's harder to be hurt without forgetting worries for the everyday. And that's what makes it all crazy. There's too much bad to feel and know and fix.

There is always so little time to waste before moving on, though. Time to cry and scream and vent is often too costly, and life is usually too fast not to try to catch up immediately on. But there's probably no difference in hurting idly. In the end, no matter how long that end takes to be reached, there's still just one thing to hold on to - one God to count on.

('Yun na naman ang ending. Hehe.)