the night is sleepless. my teeth ache with the pressure of shed tears and my eyelids throb with fullness. in the predawn, my stifled cries wake devin, and she lays with me and listens to my warbled accounts. we fall asleep after sunup and i am comforted by her steadfast friendship and love. to rise, to revert to bed where tears come again, longing is not abated by the named cessation of you. so it goes. and continues to go. the bandage of hope plastered over insufficient reflection and flown dreams is ripped away, exposing what you had anesthetized.

i manage out the door and to the press, crippled parts hidden poorly. today, david lets me print, even though it is late. afterwards, he asks if i would care to join him for a drink. he, richard, and i converse in the sunlit bar over smoky scotches-- lefroaihg. richard leaves for cigarettes and david lets me bare my scorch marks, showing me his. hours later, on the way back to the press, with his damp handkerchief knotted in my pocket, i laugh and say: i told him we get better as it gets harder. he tells me that he knew from the moment i walked into the shop that i was losing someone. i'm very intuitive, for a man, he adds. and watch out for richard- he can read minds.

he offers a cab, but i insist on riding lou home. bending to unlock her, i notice scabiosa blossoming under the ginko. he is not wrong, about growth.  and so, without hunger or thirst and surprised only at the depth of my own grief, i ride into the dark towards home. epistolary correspondence will resume in due time, humbled and thankful.