too unseemly. how a friend says of my posts about L. and so, always fearful of being called indecorous, the silence about L, so far.
last night, L asked me to stay over. i balked at sleep as if it were an immoral sentence.
this morning, i awoke to the gush of a strident shower and L's sad attempt at singing. in between, perhaps, him lathering his face, L stopped crooning and the silence in the grey hour of dawn was terrible like a drought.
