From Leila Baalbaki’s ‘Spaceship of Tenderness to the Moon’

“He kissed my ear, gathered himself together, and sat up on the edge of the bed. Searching, his fingers struck the glass of water on the small table, then the book he had been reading that afternoon, the box of cigarettes, and the ashtray. Finally, he grabbed the wristwatch (the time was now a few minutes past nine)—as if he had to consult it in order to ensure that he awoke in an hour or a minute, or whatever instant of regularity he chose…like the regularity of his breath, which rushed out eagerly, weary of its stealth.”

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