The Dangerous Existence of Madame Lee

zyphryus asked me if the perfection was what made me cry (twice in one day, which is a red-letter occasion given that I can't even remember the last time I cried once in a day), and I think she hit the nail on the head.

There is perfection, and there is gratitude, and there is relief and joy and a certain amount of hilarity at the inept ridiculousness of the entire affair and how H and I between the two of us managed not to fuck up despite my extremely high-school handling of the situation.

And it is, sometimes, an all-right thing to be loved, if "loved" is even the word, which I had forgotten.