I like red. There’s red and then, there’s red, and that latter is the one I like. Warmer, colder, brighter, darker… 0xFF0000 is my red. I didn’t always like red, I must admit. But it’s the color that worked.
Few people notice, but whenever I discuss something actually important, I talk in symbols and quotes, using references as words in a vocabulary that doesn’t fit into human language in hopes to convey meanings that it can never truly hold. Maybe it’s a side-effect of how I learned words, and it’s so easy to say, “that’s how it is”, but if it were that simple, if I could squeeze my worldview into a tiny word, it would distort space with it’s mass and fall through the floor.
That red is special. It is the color of fire that a fire never has, it is the color of blood, that the blood never is, it is the color of hope, that has no color at all.
But when I look at myself on the screen, I remember I still have it, somewhere, somehow, despite everything, that hope that tomorrow will be a new day, and that one day, after one more try, one more push, and one more sharp word, it will all actually work.
And then I fail.
And then I get up and try again in a different way.