It’s what I feel in my cheeks when they flush as he calls me cute or sweet. It’s what my blood looks like, especially when it quickens along its path when he pulls me in a little closer and a little tighter. It’s my lips on a Friday night out dancing, hoping that he’ll notice that I’m just as bold, brilliant, and adventurous. It’s my tongue from that slushie that he takes me to get late at night. It looks like brake lights because I have to stop and catch my breath when he walks in the room. It’s the trace I want you to leave all over my body when we make love. It’s the color that punctures the atmosphere when I scream at the top of my lungs “why are we fighting this”? It’s not what my heart looks like as it fades when I realize I have never been the first choice.


My stomach churns and drops when those two syllables exit your mouth or pop up on my screen. My head turns and feels light, and I can’t breathe when you’re kissing me. But when you do, it IS what my heart looks like. It is the color my eyes used to be when they would pour for hours on end, leaving no sign of ever stopping. It is the color of approximately 16 books that I own that I won’t get around to reading anytime soon because they all happen to be love stories or tragic stories and I still haven’t figured out which category ours fall into. It is the color of the fire that burns day and night inside of me when I think of all the zest and passion we could share together. It’s how I feel when you make me laugh but realize it’s fleeting.

I’ve always hated the color red. It’s thick, heavy, and feels like a burden. I much like blues. They feel like freedom and open clear skies. That’s probably why I see it when you look into my eyes, kiss my forehead, or squeeze my hand. Don’t they say that blue is a calming color?

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