When the sun rose, I got up to prepare for my departure.
I ended up sleeping in Alonzo’s room because I didn’t have the energy to leave, and I drank the milk I had prepared for him.
I sighed deeply as I remembered our conversation last night.
Everything had been going so well. He cooked for me. We ate together happily. But why do I always tend to break things?
Why do I always seem to ruin moments that should be perfect? It’s like there's a part of me that can't fully embrace happiness without questioning it, doubting it. I knew Alonzo was hurt by my hesitation, by my inability to promise him anything. He’s given me so much, and yet, here I am, unable to give him the reassurance he craves. It’s not that I don’t care—I do, deeply. But there’s so much uncertainty in my life, so many unres
