These Dreams of You

~ ~ ~

It’s hard to know how long she’s been thinking it when she says, “I have to go.” Later he feels sure she’s been considering it awhile, maybe before the email.

“Go?” he says, at first genuinely confused. They’re upstairs sitting on their bed. She’s been distraught all day, more than any time since her art was stolen two years ago, succumbing to an unshakeable silence, and only does her voice find its usual spiritedness when she says, “To Addis Ababa.”