Excerpt:

In the beginning, she told him everything.  She detailed her day with bright butterfly words that he captured with laughter and smiles and nods of acknowledgement.  Picking up the dry cleaning was an anecdote for dinner by candlelight.  They discussed the world over the plastic shower curtain, words flecked with soap and toothpaste.  At night, with the lights out, the butterflies collected in her dark hair and he brushed them off with a gentle hand so he could kiss the nape of her neck.
   
Time passed, as it does, with a baby and bills and gray hairs and clogged toilets and light bulbs that needed changing.  The conversations didn't stop, but the words became moths that fluttered out of her mouth and onto the kitchen counter.
   
"The garbage needs to go out."
   
He nodded and opened the newspaper.
   
"Time to get a haircut."
   
Cereal and juice disappeared behind the printed pages.
   
"I might run away from home today."