The sky is red, but I don't think it's the normal type of red anymore. Sometimes, skies look red because the sun is setting, but the sun isn't setting right now. In fact, the sun hasn't set in years. And let me give you a hint, it's not because the sun is still in the sky.
As a child, red used to be my favorite color. Every night in the summertime, I would wait for the sun to go down because I loved to gaze at the red in the atmosphere. Now that I am a bit older, I wish I had never anticipated in the first place.
As a child, red used to be my favorite color. It was the color of my tote bag when I first entered school as a toddler. It was the color of firetrucks. Fire. And to think that I always wanted to be a firewoman!
"You've got the heart but not the heart" they'd all tell me. By that, I think they meant that my diseased heart was physically incapable of putting out a fire, but they still thought I was a nice person anyways.
As I grew older, red stayed my favorite color, as I thought it stood for an uprising of the mind. It was the color I dreamed of as I listened to those violent symphonies. I was heated, but I was empowered.
As I grew older, red stayed my favorite color, as I longed to see molten red drip down my limbs. Most people will tell you that red is the color of pain. I would have told you that red is, in fact, the color of relief...at least from those god-awful heartaches.
Looking back and forward, I think that I could have been a great firewoman if I wanted to be. Maybe I can still put out fires in one way or another. Though I have fought countless fires before, I still might not be your type of firewoman.
I no longer fancy the color red. You may not have been able to call me back then, but you can call me now. My new color is green. I will not be fuming anymore. I will be thriving. My harmonies have transformed from hateful to hopeful.
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