Wishing for Nostalgia and Insomnia

It was dusk and we stole our kisses from the moths
that were chasing the last of daylight.
Time is slowly taking away our chances at becoming
something more than intimate.
The sun sets on your chest and in my eyes.
I want to catch it and keep it in a jar,
because it touched your heart and I never want to forget
the warmth of you against my skin.

And I'm like the little kid who
pretends to be afraid of the dark.
It'll be a reason for me to say that I hate not seeing you.
Because isn't that what lovers do?
Pretend to be something just because it fits the criteria
of being in love?
With that said I'll collect all the forced sentiments.
I can't live without you.
You're the reason I breathe.
No one ever said breathing would ever be so hard to do
if it didn't match the rhythm of infatuation.

My breath will fog up the window
and we'll draw our own interpretations
of what's outside the glass with our fingers.
We shouldn't have to conform to reality if it doesn't match
what's inside our heads.
Apparently they're filled with stick-figures and hearts,
peace signs and balloons.
The sky outside can't decide between blue or gray.
The horizon is blurred against the ocean.
I would give anything to stay and watch the sea with you.
The moon would turn the water a silvery inky black.
The tide would rise and fall while we listened to the gulls.
We'd sit on the pier holding hands and remembering when we
stole glances from strangers on the street.
We'd whisper all the things too precious for daytime,
and the salty air would eat up our words and blow them
somewhere far away.

But time was too quick for us and the sun rose too soon.
The half moon beach was hungry and ate up all the ocean
where the remnants of our secrets
lay scattered for the beachcombers.
Sandcastles will be built with the silhouettes
of our late night mutterings,
constructed by children who don't need to fake
being afraid of the dark.
It doesn't remind them of past lovers or bittersweet memories.
Nostalgia and insomnia will kill me slowly,
the moon and stars a reminder that once
I murdered myself person by person, kiss by stolen kiss.
I'd drown myself in the inky waves
and dive down deep if it meant finding you and your warmth again.
My last breath will be the final substitute for your hand in mine.