But against love, the case was solid. Easily argued. And you could, indeed, hold it in your hand.

It was great. Freedom even the imagined kind always is.

There comes a point when things are undeniable and can't be hidden any longer. Even from yourself.

And I felt comfort. Finally. All I'd wanted for so long was for someone to explain everything that had happened to me in this same way. To label it neatly on a page: this leads to this leads to this. I knew, deep down, it was more complicated than that, but watching Jason, I was hopeful. He took the mess that was Macbeth and fixed it, and I had to wonder if he might, in some small way, be able to do the same for me. So I moved myself closer to him, and I'd been there ever since.

But it was too early to know: there were always more pages to go, more words to be written, before the story was over.

With love like that, you can't get pick about how it finds you or the details. All that matters is that it's there. Better late than never.

If something doesn't work exactly right, or maybe needs some special treatment, you don't just throw it away. Everything can't be fully operational all the time. Sometimes, we need to have the patience to give something the little nudge it needs.