The night beneath the Cresent Moon

On the roads of the city I've been born in, Right beneath the Cresent moon, he held me in his arms.
The stars, the moon, the city light shined on us, and I encountered a night so beautiful, but I remember it in peices.
Maybe it was nothing but a facade, but maybe it was our genuine selves. I don't know, Neither do I have a will to know.
I could feel his warmth when he held me so close; I scared enough of the voices around tugged myself into his chest awning my face.
The night beneath the Cresent moon where we were divided by secrets and United by tragedies and misfortunes.
The night which brought us so close yet parted our ways.
The night of miseries and sorrows; exhilaration and and infatuation leading us to a path we hypothetically spoke of as 'love'.
The night under the Cresent moon where the stars collapsed beautifully and tragically cleared our way, marking us out of the city noise.
The night which we remember in peices, remember him in peices; for the rest got covered up in cranberry vodka and the bonfire party we escaped.
The night under the Cresent moon, the roads of the city I've been born in, the night we decided to forget everything; ourselves. The night we behaved like an alzheimer patient.
The night I remember in peices but can never actually forget, under the shouting stars and Cresent moon, drunk vauge arms and words so pure.