He prepared it and then forgot to eat it that morning two months ago, when he was about to leave.
He pours the coffee, and then on the new slice of toast, he spreads butter, then jam. He has breakfast in the absolute silence of the night, until in the distance he hears the sound of a car approaching quickly along the road.
He doesn’t want to tell his wife about the dream, he feels ashamed. The feel of the dark road, the absent car, the shadows always on one side: it seems too obvious, transparent even.
He returns to bed next to her. He holds her in his arms, even if she doesn’t realize. Then he thinks of another road trip done many years before: their honeymoon, a whole month spent on the road of another foreign country. They drove together everyday, for almost the entire day, to tour the countryside of that country. He still remembers the borderless roads, the thrill of speed. When he was young, inexperienced, still waiting for everything, the path did not seem like an abyss.
Now he realizes the deeper meaning of the dream: the amazement of having spent a whole lifetime next to one person. Without stopping, without obstacles, regardless of the shadows always on one side, the danger. Now he sees that first trip, their beginning, within the shadows; he prefers the bright truth of the dream. Just at that time, whatever dream it was, he would’ve shared it with her.