it was sometime between 2am and the rising of the sun, laying down next to you in a tiny spot you'd dug out for us on the windy, moonlit shore of belmar, new jersey when i confessed that i should have never stopped kissing you. and i suppose, at the time, i meant at that moment. the moment when you tilted my chin toward you and pressed your lips into my own trembling, salty ones. my hair was matted and my palms were sweating with so much passionate desire. i felt my stomach turn itself inside out (the equivalent to butterflies, except the fluttering of their wings nearly tore me to beautiful, delicate pieces). but i pulled away from you, trying to rationalize why. i remember thinking and barely communicating to you that i knew it was still so complicated and emotional for me. i knew i hadn't sorted my shit out and was still reeling from what happened when i pushed you away with full force. but the way my heart races when your fingers touch my cheek... well, i'm a sucker for it. i always have been. and the next thing i told you was that i should never have stopped kissing you in the first place. and you sighed and agreed. yet in the middle of your repetition of that sentence, i went for it. how could i not? with the way you look at me and the way your body feels when it's wrapped into to mine, it would be absolutely insane to let the night end without feeling you closely. that night has not left my mind in weeks because it was one of the most romantic things i've ever experienced. i don't think i deserved it, but i hope i can find a way back there. with you.