The saltwater was up to our chins, the sunset was taking every last orange pulp half of the earth has borrowed from it. My hair was tangled between your fingers when you asked me if it was possible to see the sunset underwater. I tell you, yes. You tell me, no. We fight over the littlest of things. We blame the moon, we blame the atoms that exist in the universe, and every salt between our lips when we kiss. I will never get tired of fighting you, you said. I will never get tired of being wrong as long as you are right here, a reminder of the one thing that endlessly feels right.