Sometimes you can find yourself thinking -

"Well, love is complicated."

It builds up like a callous in the face of pressure. Defenses emerge. Distance is imposed. Shields are raised. Excuses become ever more elaborate and complicated. Philosophy is deployed, as it usually is, as a defensive shell around a bothersome contradiction, like the generation of a pearl around a grain of sand. Love is complicated. Duty is complicated. A lot goes into sustaining affection past its shelf life. And it lasts until -

Until someone gives a heroic speech, detailing what the fuck is happening, what is going to happen next, and what your part in all of it is. A request to follow. A sign that you are valued. And the reaction is so total and intense that it feels like an entirely different [i]category [/i]of thing that all your philosophy said was love.

"I will be your wings," said Injimo, hand over her heart.
A thumbs up emerged from the wheelbarrow of liquid mercury, before melting back into the shining liquid.
Even the empty air radiated commitment.

This was all they had needed to hear. They were yours now, until the end.