She tells me that she can’t go to New York. She doesn’t tell me that she doesn’t want to go to New York or that she won’t go to New York. She tells me that she can’t. “Why?” I say. “I’m still in love with him. I think about him every minute of every day. And if I go to New York, he might not be able to find me if he comes back.” It might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. And I totally get it.
