"I think you're going back to him," Dana said.
We were on her couch on a Wednesday evening, both of us in comfortable clothes, a bowl of popcorn between us, ostensibly watching a film we had both stopped paying attention to twenty minutes ago.
"I haven't decided anything," I said.
"You've been describing him like he's a project you're managing," she said. "Not like someone you're done with."
I thought about that. "What do I sound like when I talk about Devin?"
"Lighter," she said. "You sound lighter."
"Then what am I doing?" I said.
"I think," Dana said carefully, "that you're trying to figure out whether the lighter feeling is what you want your life to feel like, or whether it's what relief feels like after a long period of pain."
That was the most useful thing anyone had said to
