Red presents herself in a vast array of hues, forcing eyes to acknowledge her presence. She swims in vibrant seduction, stained with rage. Heard in the screams of a grieving mother, or the relieved cries of a patient- she permeates a paradoxical aura. Her serenity was depicted in the construction paper hearts taped to my hospital room walls, her distress in blood bags prepared for transfusion. She exists to wander. 

          Red invites herself as a friend, seducing the vulnerable with faux promises and dreams of liberation. She flaunts her salvation, her fascinating pigment obscuring Doxorubicin’s duplicity. Her vermillion tint flows through tubes and unites with the blood—a searing chemical reaction meant to relieve. Red does not disclose her friendship comes with a grievous price tag. Her deception leaves you defenseless.

          Red exists in turbulent femininity, dancing through resiliency as she creates a masterpiece in her footsteps. She braces bravely against the world, refusing to dim her brilliance in exchange for the acceptance of other colors. Her endearment could be felt in the warm embrace of my mother, her strength in the phrase “your cancer has shrunk.” She is the sugary taste of red velvet cake, alleviating my palette the rustic taste of chemotherapy. Red loosened the knots with the hands she used to tie them. 

          Red seared herself into me, the eternal brand of a friend who offers wisdom through anguish. I see her in the mirror—ingenuity shining through a body she polished with diligence. She sings through the apathy of affliction, her lyrics teaching me never to abandon the longing of a miracle. Red blazes with ferocity, muting the colors that threaten to diminish her magnitude. She exists in recovery and is written all over me.