Red

Whenever someone expresses rage as “they saw red”, the phrase always makes me curious.

I would go over scenes in my head, imagining what would make me see red.

I am no stranger to anger but it never satisfied me to call it red.

I did not know that the first time I “saw red” it would be terrifying,

it was not rage.

No.

It was agony.

It was the very feeling of desperation.

A feeling that urged me to rip open my chest, and break away the ribs one by one.

Until I found the heart buried deep within so that I could hand it over to my beloved.

Every bit of power that you thought has held you together throughout your life,

slips out like fine sand.

I saw red when I saw my beloved bleed out.

It was everywhere.

Glistening on my hands, I tried to search for the steady thrum.

The one that I had memorized. It was my mantra during rocking storms.

Only that it was no longer there but reduced to a slight hitching.

Like an injured hummingbird attempting to soar once again.

Why did they call red the “colour of love” when it was taking away my love?

My precious love.

He was no one's to own except for my heart. It was tainting my beloved with cruelty that he did not deserve.

Perhaps I did.

After all, I had been taking every moment for granted until now.

Now when I could hear the gentle wheezing and feel the cold clammy skin.

It was so wrong.

So wrong that it suffocated me.

My beloved was very warm, he was the warmth of my heart.

He was the hearth.

His eyes fluttered and so did mine.

The only difference was that he was fighting the darkness and I the tears. My tears would never be enough to wash away the red.

It was strong and relentless, it always left a stain.

Like the one on my hands.

Oh, how I would let myself bleed for a thousand years!

For a thousand years!

If it could keep my beloved safe. If it meant my love's chest could rise and fall once more,

that their melodious laughter could once again grace my ears,

and their hands could again caress my face,

I would gladly endure a thousand years of pain and suffering.

But that is selfish and wishful.

Love is very selfish.

Oh, that is the very reason villains exist.

Red is vengeance.

I will not let the awaiting void engulf my beloved.

The claws of death were no match for my desire to overcome it. The string of fate was pulled tight but it was not the end.

It would unravel for years to come

Then I saw red again.

I saw in the planes of my beloved’s face, a soft blush.

So tender and pure.

I saw it on the tip of his nose in winter like a blooming rose and at the tip of his ears in summer.

A sign of life, a sign of defiance against all odds.

Oh! What a heavenly sight it was!

My pitiful eyes could not drink enough,

for they were bottomless vessels for the sight of my beloved.

My heart beat only and only to the rhythm of his heart.

What beauty is there in life? If my beloved is not a part of it.

And then I always saw red.