Fear is a motherf$cker. I think I blew it. In fact, I know I did. I became terrified and scared and impatient and panicked. I think the fact he may love me too, and planned to see me, became too much. It was too much. I just don't deal with this stuff well. That's why I write books.
What do I do now? I guess there is nothing to do. I just need to let it go and move on.
Unbelievable. My one shot and I blow it. BAD.