People bleed in
reds; from dark rose, thick and brackish, to bright strawberry,
rushing and young. It’s unique to each person, each with
some interesting quality. I kept a palate of all the reds I
found, from burgundy to near-pink. I searched endlessly for the
perfect shade of red, and when I found it in a young whirlwind
of a boy whose smile cut across his face like the sun cresting
the horizon, I suddenly wasn’t so sure. It happened on a
day where the sky had forgotten how to rain, but it appeared to
be trying to remember. He’d coaxed the knife from my
fingers and promised to love enough for the both of
us.
