art by Melissa Mead
Love Is Orange, Love Is Red
You don't say "I love you" anymore.
Neither do I.
We had only been dating two months the first time you told me you loved me. "I love you, too," I said.
Of course, that was long before the empathy virus, so you hugged me tighter and believed.
You love me with a waterfall of emotion, churning bright white in the sunlight as it roars down from a dizzying height, scattering rainbows everywhere.
Maybe things would be different if you had come down with the virus first. I woke up feeling better after a good dose of Nyquil the night before, and I marveled as I lay in bed beside you, feeling for the first time the powerful emotions surging inside you, awed that anyone could feel so much for me. I told you how wonderful that was.
I love you with a deep blue river of emotion, slow and steady as it flows gently to the sea.
The morning after you got sick, you woke up and looked into my heart expecting to find a waterfall, the mirror image of what you felt for me.
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And it wasn't there.
You don't say "I love you" because it hurts to hear a reply you can't believe.
I don't say "I love you" because it hurts you when I do, and it hurts me to hurt you.
On one of our early dates, we got to talking about colors. "They're all in our heads," you said. "Just perception. But there's no way to know that the color red in your mind is the same as the color red in my mind. It might be what I see as orange, or even green or blue."
I shook my head. "Red is red. Orange is orange. How can they be different for different people?"
I hope one day you'll understand I was wrong about colors.
The End
This story was first published on Wednesday, August 28th, 2013
We hope you're enjoying
Love Is Orange, Love Is Red by
Eric James Stone.
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