When I was younger, red meant a lot of things.
Red was the colour of my favourite shirt; the oversized one I wore practically every day until the holes wore it down so that it was nothing more than some strips of fabric stitched together haphazardly, but I still loved it the same.
It was the colour of the lipstick that my mom wore when she wanted to feel pretty; I liked it when my mom felt pretty, it got her in a happy mood and when she was in a happy mood I was in a happy mood.
They were my favourite memories.
As I grew up, red's meanings got harsher.
Red was the colour of his face when he was angry; when he'd yell and yell for hours on end because I'd forgotten to load the dishwasher or do the laundry.
It was the colour of my mom's eyes after she spent so long alone in her room; the nights that she'd cry over what he'd done to us and why she'd let it happen. I wanted her to know that it wasn't her fault, but I couldn't.
It was still the same colour that it had been five years ago, so why did it feel like it had changed?
But it was fine, as long as we remembered those special memories we'd be fine.
Soon enough, red was my least favourite colour.
Red was the colour of the blood smeared across my skin; the type I'd have to scrub off my face before I headed home because my mom was already dealing with enough as is, she didn't have to worry about me too.
It was the colour of the wine that'd become more frequent around the house; not to the point where I was worried about her getting poisoned from the drink, but to the point that I was worried that he'd already poisoned her mind.
The memories were lost.
Eventually, red meant nothing.
Red was the colour of a stop light.
It was the colour of an apple.
The colour of leaves.
But none of them mattered.
When you came along, red began to mean something again.
Red was the colour our faces would turn when we were around each other; back when we couldn't admit to each other how we felt, but we both somehow knew our feelings were mutual.
It was the colour of your lips when you pulled away from me; when you admitted that you'd 'been wanting to do that for a while' and I pulled you back in because you were just so addicting.
The colour of the sky at midnight; as we entangled our fingers together and our voices rang through the field, not caring if anyone heard us because we were both at the top of the world.
The colour of the dress my mom wore; on the night she finally came to see me again, matching red lipstick painted on her face perfectly.
The colour of the roses you gave me on our anniversary; saying that you'd been running late and hadn't had time to pick up anything special, but you should've known that anything you give to me is special.
The colour meant more than it ever had, because of you.
Red, the colour of love.
The colour of memories.
The colour of us.
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Word count: 558
A/N: Sorry this one's so short, I'm stuck at my friend's house because of how much it snowed and I don't have my phone (which has all my stories) so I just decided to write something up really quick. I'll try to post something longer soon!
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