It hurts me every time that I find myself looking at your posts, pleading for love, while I’m here, alive and breathing. I wonder if you still remember me, or if I’ve been consigned to oblivion, perhaps a long-forgotten memoir. Perhaps you once knew that I existed and that my love for you still lingers, but you may have overlooked it because I might not be the type of love you’re searching for. Like a flower right in front of you, but you’re farsighted. I used to be your sunshine, your kryptonite, the love of your life, but suddenly, everything has turned around, and I’m no longer your muse.
—Red
Writings of Red 