Red.
Red.
Red was all I could see.
Not 'red' in the metaphorical sense for anger in which the aggressive emotion takes over and all. You. Can. See. Is.
Red.
No. This was 'red' in the literal meaning as everything my eyes touched was stained.
Stained in what?
Stained in 'red'.
Now, you may be asking: "what kind of red?"
Scarlet? Too bright.
Vermilion? Too lively.
Burgundy? In some places yes. In the places where the 'red' paint has dyed the blue hues of the room a darker shade than the rest.
A red rose? Closer, but the meaning is too soft. A rose. This inanimate object, the symbol of true love.
Keeping the old romances strong.
Starting the new ones with a blush to her rosy red cheeks at the simple yet powerful proclamation of love.
Or maybe as a question of forgiveness?
To atone for any wrongdoings from the past.
Your interpretation of the 'red' rose is dependent on your current state of emotions.
Sad? A gesture of love. Happiness.
Happy? A gesture of contentedness. Comfort.
Angry? A question of forgiveness. Hope.
Love? A symbol of that bond. Connection.
Grief?... a symbol of sorrow. With a note attached saying "I'm sorry." as it is the social norm to at least pretend to feel sorrow for those that have suffered loss in their life.
But that message is meaningless, with words that are feeling less.
Thoughts, the ocean, washing through my brain like waves grasping at the dead shores for any sign of life. Small, fragile hands slipping from the grasps of hope as the mind pulls me back into the deep recesses of my unconscious psyche.
Into the dead sea.
The 'red' sea.
I stand.
Shock.
I believe that's what it's called.
The severity of the situation not hitting me like it should.
My hands trembling.
Hyperventilating.
Screaming.
Crying.
