Love, really, is red.

My room looked different. I didn’t remember painting it that colour.

Wait. Why was my body sticky? Why was I on the floor?

Then I remembered.

I had threatened to leave him. He got mad.

Did this not happen two days ago?

Then I saw him standing there. Menacing.

“Will you still leave me?”, he asked.

“Of course not.”, I said.

He smiled and said “Happy Valentine’s, baby.”

We kissed.

Love really is red.