I've noticed I'm loved in my most familiar state.
Red had been my obsession, my color in my mind, since I was small and whenever I come back to it, people come back to me.

The more light I let shine through, the more people notice, the more they want to know.

I am not often bright enough.

Black is creative. I stall in Black, I waste away in the dark creating non stop.
Black is familiar territory to most but it's not a place people love to return.
In Black, I am alone.
I am once again, in Black.

Red was love and loss and flowers flowing from my body like I was spring.
Red was nights dipped in cool blue, a reminder of love and colors that couldn't be forgotten.
Red became orange, I was faded but desperate, and soon Red wasn't the same. Red was a foreign land, a shade cast over a garden to rest.
And the night set, and Black was all I could see.

I tried to add the colors I saw, I tried to keep dark but vibrant and suddenly nobody wanted to watch, to learn anymore.
If I could trust in the fact of Red, if I could trust that I could go back, I would dive in.
But who's to say that I will be loved again, as I attempt to fool the eye into the brighter?
A dark state is just as comfortable, even if not lovable.