Red has grown tired now, of the exhausting symbolism, crushed by the burden of representing love and blood, of inducing blissfulness in a loving heart, or inciting self-harm in a broken one, of being present on first dates, and in gory thoughts that permeate even the soul, for hate leaves nothing to chance.

Red wants to quit, terms non-negotiable, will continue to represent blood, nature’s label, but will not stand for Love and then be expected to lend its hue to danger too, even though they normally go hand in hand, and I don’t understand this hue and cry, for ultimately everything is black and white.