Not Made to Last

by Jay McLean

Like, what happens if your soul dies but your heart refuses to stop beating?

I am the cause of her misery… …and my existence on this earth is the cause of mine.

at our cores, we’re all the same. We’re nothing but flesh and bones and organs; entire bodies that are overworked, minds that overthink, and hearts that have the potential to break.

We wake up every day with goals set, hoping for that tiny piece of joy we obtain when we achieve them—all the while knowing in the back of our minds that we have absolutely zero control over this shit-show of a thing called life.

I didn’t get up because… sometimes, I feel as if this life, this world, isn’t worth getting up for at all.

We crave silence as much as we fear it, and we never, ever trust the darkness to keep us safe.

Olivia just became my new sport. My new discipline. My new obsession. And she has no fucking clue what she’s in for.

My biggest lie: I’m good.

“Hey… I forgot to ask you yesterday! How’s that girl who tilts your world off its axis? The one who made you want to stay?”

“I know I owe you a long one, and I promise you’ll get it, but this one’s going to have to be short. It’s just… I’m standing in front of the girl of my literal dreams right now, and I’m about to shoot my shot, but the longer I stand here, the more confidence I lose, because she’s lookin’ a little… terrified, and I should probably figure out why, so… I love you and I’ll speak to you later.”

The version of him I’ve come to know is all I’ve ever wanted. All I’ve ever needed.

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s all life is. The constant search for that one person who gives you hope. Who inspires you. Someone you’re willing to wait years for, even when the outcome may not always be forever.”

“Do you have someone like that?” I ask, because I know I do, and he’s sitting right next to me.

But every piece of tenderness—of warmth—I’ve ever held on to has only burned me in the past. Now, I live in an ice chest, guarded by walls so thick and so high that even sunlight can’t break through.

Kissing Rhys Garrett is like breathing in sunshine, warming me from the inside, thawing my heart, my soul, until cracks appear in my ice-cold armor.

My pathetic fears. I hate this part of my life. I hate the darkness I can’t seem to shake no matter how bright the light is that envelops me.

I wonder what it must feel like in his head.

“All human wisdom is contained in these two words - Wait and Hope.”

“What are you hoping for, Rhys?” His answer is simple. Fast. To the point. “You.”

I fucking hate the hell out of this shitty life that’s been handed to me.

But, I can hate the world… hate that it continues to spin when there are two fewer souls on this earth who once made up my universe.

And I hope I’m doing okay, and that I’m making you proud… because swear, most days, I feel like I’m failing…”

Some fear has you screaming so loud, the action burns your throat, forces heated tears that come on so quick and so thick that it momentarily blinds you. And then there’s the type of fear that steals your breath, rattles your rib cage, and knocks you into a state of silence.

I became addicted, like I’d been a fiend for years and he was the only drug that could cure me. It all happened so fast—the hunger and cravings—that I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.

I became addicted to his presence, to the way he made me feel. He made me believe I was more than I was. That I was bigger. Braver. Better than I was.

As if us, together, was nothing more than a dream, and we were so afraid to wake up. Afraid of The End.

Anything but the panic clawing its way out of me. Panic caused by one simple thought—that

To surprise a girl and make her happy like this, to have her single smile consume every part of you… I get it now—why people choose one over everyone else. Everything else.

“Because goodbye is forever. And I’ll never be ready to say goodbye⁠—”

Some people enjoy reading because it takes them to another world without them ever leaving their couch.

reading saved my life. In more ways than one.

here I am—the luckiest guy on earth because my miracle crashed right into me… and I didn’t even know I was looking for it.”

My miracle is you.

Leaving would mean facing reality, and reality means the unknown. I hate the unknown.

“The family we create means more than the family who created us.”

lately, the feeling of drowning is the only thing that makes me feel alive.

I need to feel like I’m dying in order to feel alive.

He knew of nothing else but the sickness that lived inside him, clawing at his insides until there was nothing left to take.

He was content in his life until his life itself wasn’t enough.

I’m living off four cups of coffee, an abundance of heartache, and the tiniest amount of hope.

it blew my mind that there were people out there who could control other’s minds while I couldn’t even control my own.

“Just breathe,” she says. “One more time… every time.”

Breathe. One more time. Every time. And I promise to do the same.

“Because it’s so much easier to hate you when the feeling is reciprocated.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell him?”

“For the same reason you didn’t.” She shrugs. “I was afraid to lose him.”

I yell, and I cry, and I hate that I cry because it shows weakness when I’m feeling anything but.

“I have lost so much of myself that there’s nothing left of me,

“You lost someone you just met. I’ve lost my best friend. You’ve known me for weeks… I’ve loved you for years.”

You used to always say that the family we create means more than the family who created us, and I think, sometimes, we forget that…”