I get it. The things you hope for the most are the things that destroy you in the end.

You know, I'd get a tattoo with your name on it. Only, I want you to have the freedom to change your name if you want to.

You wanna-I dunno-get coffee or something sometime?

This is not something insignificant. This is real. This is happening, and this is ours.

Once the storm comes out, the landscape changes. What you had before is altered in some way. And you have a choice: build something new and better from what is left or abandon it.

We could call you an ambisexual. A duosexual. A—” “Do I really have to find a word for it?” Kyle interrupts. “Can’t it just be what it is?” “Of course,” I say, even though in the bigger world I’m not so sure. The world loves stupid labels. I wish we got to choose our own. We pause for a moment. I wonder if that’s all—if he just needed to say the truth and have it heard. But then Kyle looks at me with unsure eyes and says, “You see, I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.” “Nobody does,” I assure him.

Love is the higher law.