Red. A colour associated with love; yet it shows no relevance whatsoever to love: an indescribable emotion. Violence, fierceness and blood, yeah right, that's enough romance needed to push you over the edge you call life. Violence is red, calmness is blue, yet how does romance, become red too? If roses represent love, yet a sort of hate at the same time, then why are they considered harmess? Love is a guilty pleasure: you hate that you love it. So what does this mean? Is love red?
He used to give me roses; I loved them like I loved him, until an unexpected prick of a thorn changed it all, with pure red blood seeping from my fingers like melting ice cream on a hot summers day. I hadn't expected to lose blood over a rose, then again I hadn't expected to lose love for him either. The more roses I gained, the more blood I lost, the more love I lost simultaneously. It was over before my hands were completely covered in little love cuts.
It wasn't long before his tanned, muscular arms were around another woman. Tall yet slender, brown hair flowing down her toned back like curtains draping over double glazed windows. Gosh. What did he see in her? Except for the fact she was more or less perfect or unbelievably enviably beautiful, she was nothing. She WAS beautiful though, he knew it. They all did. They way he would look her in the eye and shower her with those lovely roses of heartbreak and pain. Oh, how I missed that. Immediately my eyes inspected her long slim fingers, a pebple of shiny rock instantly cathing my attention. Wow, they were serious. Yet, that wasn't what surprised me. No. Her left hand embellished in love, with love cuts almost covering the pale surface.
That was then. If he could move on, I didn't see why I shouldn't. A few weeks later I was back at the same restaurant where I had seen them together and where he had taken me on our first date. Yet I was with the NEW man of my dreams, in my red dress, once again. My love cuts had been patched up by then; my heart sewn together like ripped jeans.
"Elizabeth, this is for you". He took out a ruby red rose from the cheap plastic vase the restaurant had no nerve of misplacing on our table. I was seeing red all over again. From this day forth I've been seeing red. I guess it's true what they say. Love cuts.
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