I couldn’t make out, what time it was, but the sky was golden and pink and purple and I was tired, so I turned to you, limping my ego bruised, after hours of hours of us fighting like we did, and I asked you, in a voice filled with resignation “Is this our sunset?” You look at me, and held out your hand, and I could see the scars on your wrist where I held too tight, and then you smiled at me, and said “No. It’s our sunrise.”
