The One Thing You Can't Replace Novels & Stories

Each extravagance we appreciate in this world has a substitution. You can prevail with regards to nothing in case you're languid. You can't find everything in case you're lethargic. You can't have the cash for each costly brand in case you're static. You can accomplish nothing on the off chance that you keep on communicating your dormant mentality. You have no spot to go all through your daily existence in the event that you lie on one side and simply sit in front of the TV, feeling terrible and moronic. You can't procure triumph if you rely upon others.

Mark hated being off work, especially without having had a chance to prepare for it. He wasn’t irreplaceable, he reminded himself. It was arrogant to think that no one else could do what he did. But the most important part of his job was the counseling he gave to parishioners, and he’d had to work hard to build relationships with them. Sure, someone else could have done it, but no one else had, so now those vulnerable people were left with no one they trusted to speak to.

Because now— it’s not just the system trying to pull us apart. It’s doubt. And that’s the one thing we might not be able to fight.

His fingers clutched. "Love is not renewable, Robert. You can't rebuild from blueprints. You can't dig it out of the ground or trade it on an exchange. You can't get a board of directors to vote it back into existence once it's gone. It is the one, true non-renewable resource. And we… we have a surplus."

Please listen to my rambling; I need you to see that I cannot live without you. So forget about it. Yes, it will be very hard, but forget about the things that you cannot change. Don't be a prisoner of it.

“Think what you want about him. I don’t care. Either way, it doesn’t change your situation. So if you’re asking me, maybe you should focus less on who’s wearing the captain’s armband and more on your recovery.” Zane lets out a hollow laugh. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. And maybe I look useless now, limping around like this... but I still want to be by your side again. Things can go back. We can fix this. I swear—” “No,” I cut in sharply. “It’s the same song, Zane. The same tired lyrics you always fall back on. You talk like you’ll show up, like you’ll stay... but when it matters most, you disappear.”

Of all the blows I could weather, of all the losses I could take, this is not one of them. This. Cannot. Happen.

"I can't—" "You can. And you will. Because if you burn out, the foundation loses you entirely. You can't pour from an empty cup, Hope. Let yourself refill."

I'm not like them. "What I'm trying to say is that, they are replaceable. It might take a while but I could find someone to fill their positions in my life if things comes to a worse state. But you, what I have with you—what I could have with you. I don't think that it's replaceable. I don't think that I could ever move things the way I do with you with another person. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" I stop for a breather as I look at her expression.

Later, as we’re about to leave, she hesitates. “There’s something else,” she says. I wait. “When institutions lose people like you,” she continues, “they usually try to replace the function without acknowledging the fracture.” I nod. “They’ll find someone,” I say. “They always do.” “Yes,” she replies. “But they won’t replace what you represented.” I consider that. Legacy is a strange thing. It’s rarely the position it’s the permission you give others. That night, alone again, the quiet feels different. Less raw.