The sun never sets over the water, but you still take me there whenever dusk comes to meet the horizon. We sit out on the rocks with me tucked tight against your chest, while you count stars like other people count blessings, but we're only half lucky with all these city lights ruining your chances. I know you're tired, love, but I'm terrified. I'm running out of ways to stop myself from telling you I miss you because twenty four hours isn't a long time to be separated and I'm really just more afraid of what you're doing when I'm not there -- and of what you're thinking when I am. I've been burnt enough times before to learn that loving with only half your heart will save you from the fire, but I know that's not what I'm doing here. I don't want you to be a mistake worth making. I want this to be real this time.
I keep playing out all the ways you could hurt me in my head, not because I think you will, but because it'll sting less if it actually happens. I've learned to prepare myself and I'm overthinking. I'm moving too fast. You're moving too fast. We're moving.
I don't remember ever feeling like this before -- on the verge of losing everything and realizing there's nothing to do to fix it. I remember the situation, but not the same sort of heartache. I remember acting out the hurt, but not feeling it. I didn't think I'd lose you before I got a chance to love you. It's the not knowing which stings the worst.
There's nothing that sounds quite like silence. The way the whole apartment sits still when you're not here. I don't know how to explain the space between your syllables or the way you smile just by lifting up the corners of your mouth. Everything's effortless for you, but then this happened and I'm not sure I can save you. I'd forgotten what it felt like to want someone's happiness at the risk of losing your own. I'd forgotten what it felt like, because I never actually felt it before. It's not easy -- loving you -- but I still want it more than I want the sun to keep rising and setting. I couldn't care less if the world stopped spinning if I still got to fall asleep at your side. I'd live in darkness to see you smile again. I don't think you get it yet. I'm afraid you never will.
It's taken me awhile to realize that years ago, I wrote a story about you. That was long before I knew the sound of your voice or the way your hands feel down my spine. But all the details fit effortlessly when I'm looking into your eyes and you ask me what I'm thinking, I realize I'm still lying. Because I tell you I'm thinking of going home. Or that I'm tired when really all I'm ever thinking of is falling asleep and waking up next to you.