Why I Love Red


Sometimes I think there's a fine line between love and hate, but I don't believe everything I think. Other times, I think I hate believing that I love what I once hated. Today I think I love red, now that it's been infused with the color it so desperately needed.

It is glorious.


If you ask me, there's something just plain wrong about a red sky, and it doesn't really matter what time it is, either. Sailors may delight in a red sky at night, but I don't even have a boat. Red is the color of blood, and I hate seeing it outside my body, or yours. Roses are red, especially after I bleed all over them because the thorns stabbed me when I wasn't looking.

My eyes are red every day after my shower because I always get soap in them. It hurts. Fire trucks are red, and so is communism. When I hear sirens I think about air raids, or someone's house burning down. When I have a cold, my nose gets red from all the blowing and wiping. I don't feel good when I eat red meat, and red wine gives me a headache. Diaper rash is red.

I hate red.

—Jeff, "Why I Hate Red," Omegaword, 2008

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