She rested her head against my chest, her gentle movements rising and falling with my breath as I softly ran my fingers through her hair.
What had just transpired between us was certainly something to remember, yet my thoughts had already drifted elsewhere — toward the hypothesis occupying my mind.
To figure it out, I retraced the differences between all the women in my life so far.
The answer was simple: feelings.
Alice and Ellie's affection had been genuine; the others' were creations of my own making—born not from the heart, but from my ability. Beyond that, I couldn't find any other distinction.
This discovery would be useful to me in the future, since it meant that anyone who genuinely loved me actually had a higher chance of betraying me — which was, in its own way, deeply ironic.
I couldn't help but recall the saying: " Love is the sweetest poison."
With that question out of the way, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to rest.
