Red
The feeling when you first see her. A fire ignites in your heart identical to the flames in her eyes. This is it. This has to be the one. Red is the feeling of your first date, the food and the drinks and the endless conversation. Nervous energy burning between you, your hands aching to take hers. Red is the feeling of not knowing anything of the future, but understanding the need to spend it with her. Red is the feeling in your heart when you ring her doorbell, the small velvet box warm in your hand, the possibilities pounding through your head. When she says yes, your whole life ahead of you flashes in front of your eyes. You see it all. On the night of your wedding, her earrings sparkle as bright as the ring on her finger. She is yours. The lights burn bright on the dance floor and you can only see one color. Red. Your love for her burns so bright, so hot, so powerful that you are almost afraid it could hurt someone.
Red is he color of her lipstick the day you come home from work early. Red is the color of her nails as they trace the outline of another mans face. Red is the color of the hot anger building in your chest. It is the color of the wall you punch a hole through. It is the color of the table you knock over, and the color of the roses that spill from the shattered vase on the floor. Red covers your vision. Red explodes from the ceiling. Red is the only thing you can see through the mask of rage. When she leaves, her suitcases are red. The lipstick she left in the top drawer is a violent shade of crimson. There is a stain on the floor from the pain you felt when she betrayed you. Red is a color of the extremes.
