red.

I went looking for red: mahogany, scarlet, crimson, blush. And at first I thought I had found them. But the more I painted with those shades of red, the more blue my canvas became. I thought that's what red is: blue; navy, ocean, denim, berry. The red that had rushed into my cheeks, turned to sapphire tears. The maroon marks, turned out to be indigo. And the blood I bled wasn't red, it was midnight blue. Red didn't feel like what I had hoped. It felt the blue I had feared and avoided. But still the blues I had had, felt better than red I saw. Suddenly it dawned on me: I was colorblind.