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 sky, and it doesn't really matter what time it is, either. Sailors may delight in a sky at night, but I don't even have a boat. is the color of blood, and I hate seeing it outside my body, or yours. Roses are , especially after I bleed all over them because the thorns stabbed me when I wasn't looking.
My eyes are every day after my shower because I always get soap in them. It hurts. Fire trucks are , 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 from all the blowing and wiping. I don't feel good when I eat meat, and wine gives me a headache. Diaper rash is .
I hate .
—Jeff, "Why I Hate Red," Omegaword, 2008