Daisy and Basira’s relationship is such a sweet agony, because at its foundation it’s so transparent, so honest. They both know what they’re doing, however much they pretend to lie or hide it. Such is the situation they’re in that there’s no choice but to cling to eachother.

Have you ever been in that sort of situation? The type where the closest person to you is deeply morally flawed and you’re realising just how in the wrong you are, but their hand is the only one to grasp. You see the claws along their fingertips and you turn your head and hold them close.

On many occasions Basira talks about the wrong Daisy’s done, she knows where Daisy’s kill spot is, she figured that’s where Jon would be. And yet she never tries to convince everyone that she’s capable of fixing daisy, because she knows she’s not. Daisy knows this just as well, and perhaps it’s a foundation of their trust.

To be loved is to be changed but to be changed is to be hated; a relationship where you accept each others flaws is a commodity, and a rare one at that. Whether those flaws are mundane or deeply damaging, these kinds of connections have a tendancy to grow beyond the point of return.

To know that you’re in the wrong together is a comfort. It’s not good, nor is it right, but it’s a place you can sit. A place you can stay. And as your comfort grows so does that leeching wrongness you protect, and in the end it may just eat you up.

To continue the way Daisy and Basira did was what drove them towards their end, but even at that last painful moment there was a tenderness, a rose in the thorns that makes the wounds worthwhile.