*Tallon*
Red.
Like the first sip of freshly poured wine I ever tasted, stolen from my dad's liquor cabinet and passed around until it was empty and just perfect for spinning on the wood floor.
Red like the very first stop sign I ran when I snuck out to head to a concert. I didn't even remember who played, but I remembered the color of my dad's face when I got brought home by two cops and a car I hadn't gotten permission to take that now sported a brand-new dent on the side.
Red like the color of her lips on our first date–such a pretty color that shined in the light. Her lips parted with every smile and giggle as she left marks in the shape of her lips on my collar.
Red was the color of how I felt about her, the color of her dress and my cheeks when I first saw her in it, the color of love and passion and everything good in the world.
But it was also now splattered all across my hands.
