insomnia

I forgot how beautiful things were
at three oclock in the morning
when the lights shine too bright
and the streets are silent.
The beauty in feeling someone's
scent brush against yours,
seeping in spots
you didn't know were there.
The whisper of words
from an unfamiliar voice
that feels too much like
home.
Everything is so beautiful,
so honest.
The whispers become honesty.
The caress of a finger,
the grasp of a hand.
The feeling of not knowing
what the next step is,
but feeling exactly what
you know you need to feel
at.
that.
moment.
and for a second that's all that matters.
those 3 a.m.
memories.