20 Shades of Red
I wasn't even five winters old when I first fell in love with red. Beauty, from then was, etched on those tints and shades of red, as if, while every color passed by, red lured my attention and all attraction.
Kindergarten was a kaleidoscope of rainbow hues yet the bento box with cherry slices sticked to my taste buds. Adolescent days had me fantasizing of cherry kisses that his lips would brush on mine.
I was a toddler springing with bees and butterflies in the park when that scent seeked me. Blossoms that enchanted me with dreamy redolance and beauty was red, a hue that sparked within me such vigour and passion.
Playdates and picnics baskets with Grandma's special fruit jam thwarted homesickness to a limit. After her, someone special also has his favorite jam strawberry, while my favorite part was stealing bites of his breakfast bread.
Autumn roasted verdant dreams and toasted hopes on grilled grief and nights had me etching my heart onto parchments. Verses soaking merlot memories and dripping metaphors were addictive while amor was so far away.
Purging pyre polished the stone heart into glittery garnet just like my heart that pains in flames and later let all the light inside. Grieving was prohibited, for glory awaited at the end of trials.
Sunset ribbons red over the horizon, cloudland blushing a robust rouge. That was my first kiss. Twineyes in the drowning twilight, cried crimson to the careless waves yearning caresses. That was my first heartbreak.
Pale skin infected with infatuation, some butterflies fluttered near hip bones and ruby pimples sparkled on my cheeks while my heart slipped at his feet. Later on at late nights when sleep evades me, I grind some ruby and chew some philosophy.
Though A letter in Scarlet print was stamped for shame, it synergized to pride through flipped pages. Dawn welcomed my days only when he spreads some scarlet sindoor on my forehead, and that's where pride glows.
When winter passed without a summer or spring in reserve, dusks lead me astray and some bottled wishes swished in an oval glass to bring me back to the land of undead. Winedrops that parched my momentary thirst knows how deep my drought rooted.
I was twenty two summers when I held his arms and stepped into our cottage in the hills. The brick walls smeared red of our raging scent and tapped our whispers. Those winter bricks sang lullaby to my loneheart clutching to a faded silhouette.
I wasn't going to fall for temptations in this birth and you shouldn't have too. Yet history repeats itself but altered in a way, in the place of single serpent, venomous tongues tracked you. And I couldn't say no when you pushed a poisoned apple into my hands.
I was sweet seventeen, scared and shy, eyes searching for alphabets sewed into stories slumbering in mahogany shelves, when his gaze crossed mine and we fell into a new story. Scenery turned sweet to sour while memory remained sweet.
A hue is innate to me within, running circles while blooming life into me. Blood red races as a tapering ivy, branching off beliefs, illuminating illusions and igniting musings. If passion has a color it would be blazing red.
First grey clouds on our skyline didn't fade away but gifted some purple patches. They lay fuming betwixt frowns and tears. Eventually cascading as burnt red anger. That was our first fight, the one that we couldn't resolve afterwards.
I was as ripe as a pink berry, and kisses were never enough. Some cravings yearned for more than sweetness. We danced through blue to red and reached purple and sour desserts sated souls. One bite of berry and I'd think of your marks on my soul.
And I hide behind black and grey shadows when my own love scares me to death. Red also meant danger, so I lay under the veil of tinted melancholy, my love growing in the shade. My red wasn't really red, it was a mirage of black.
And he never wrote Poetries about my smile or sang songs about my dimple. When the last of my blushes sank, I realized that he did nothing but made my blushes bleed.
I was twelve springs young and ignorant of the taste of kisses but my dreamboat chewed on bubble gums as if obsessed of it. He replaced the flavor of candies and gems and sowed some red seeds that tasted of his breath.
Life was too short to stay wilted forever. As the spring of love dried up leaving lipstick smudges as signature of heartbreaks, I gulped some red and saved the rage to ensure my fight. Because even if love ends or not, life sure goes on.