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the in-between: a modest confession


I'm sleepless in Beirut.

I'm tired. So tired. I want to collapse beside a warm body just as tired and sink into a deep bottomless sleep.

I confess. I need sleep. I need warmth. I need to not want. But I want to need. I'm tired, you know. I'm a little broken body looking for a pillow. Something mellow and marshmallow soft, calm and sweet. Tired thoughts too lazy to imagine tomorrow, wild and untamed,like my hair unbrushed this morning.

Brush my hair. Fall asleep. Keep the right side warm. Be tired. Languid. Lingual. Like a swollen tongue. Like a swollen dream. Like a belly of down feathers for me to sink my head in. Like warm feet in the morning. Like a warm cup of milk and tea. Like a milky way. Like a little bit of that.

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