from the bottom of my empty heart

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The color red is unique, magical. It's heavy and layered, sometimes light and heavy. Its complexities reach beyond a simple scratch of blunt crayon, or a flick of the wrist to splatter a dab of paint.

Red is quick, burning tears; droplets that scatter and wet my cheeks so it feels like the sun is shining directly on my face.

It is the dread, and the regret of running through the rain when I don't have anywhere else to go, but also the thrill of not having an umbrella to shield myself from the downpour.

Red can be the silky caress of fabric around my ankles, but also the twisted image of myself in the glass, a contortion my mind came up with to protect myself from the external world.

I scream for red from the depths of my very being, waiting for the right moment to color everything in sight with it.

Red is the taste of pride and envy mixing in my mouth, until there is the right amount and everything threatens to pour out, ruining, destroying; but also creating.

It is what I yearn for when I cry for the warmth beside me, the warmth that is never there.

We all embody this emotion, this color, this concept... And it comes in however many forms your subconscious mind decides it to be.

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