Not Made to Last

by Jay McLean

And we repeat the process. Again and again. And I don’t know how much time passes while he does this, and I don’t care. I’ll wait for an eternity for my hope to arrive.

“You’re a hundred percent of my fifty, Rhys.”

“Someone who’s got your back, one hundred,” he says, turning serious.

“And when that storm comes, my love, I will hold your hand…” She grins from ear to ear, then takes my hand in hers, guiding me to face the darkness. “… and we will face it together, and we’ll yell…” She faces me. “Are you ready?”

“Do your worst…” she yells into the darkness, and then we face the symbolic storms ahead of us, hand in hand, and together we shout, “for I will do mine!”