She used to send him messages from around the world. Greetings from North Dakota, she’d say. Or, Salutations from Portland. These notes were always on real pretty postcards. He saved them over the years. Had one with the Statue Of Liberty on it. He always wondered how they built that.
One time he got a postcard from Paris, France. Had the Eiffel Tower on it. Turned it over and there was no note. Just blank white with a stamp on it. He pinned it to his wall just like the rest of them. Just a picture. No words.
Then they stopped coming. No more picture postcards. No more notes. He thought something might’ve happened to her. Maybe she’d ran into trouble in Turkey. Perhaps she was in a South American prison. He wasn’t sure.
Could’ve been she just didn’t want to communicate with him anymore. She got tired of writing. He knew one thing for sure. He’d never see her again. She was gone. She had the guts to leave while others just talked about it.
He missed her.