Red is in my head, but I would rather her next to me instead of stuck in my head when I lay down in bed. Enough said. I must make the fleeting moments last as they dwindle through my fingers, oh so fast. The words I use to describe are better used for me to hide the hurt I feel inside. On second thought, I think I lied. The feelings do not just stay within my fragile skin. If there were sides to this battle, they would win. Call it a cry for help or release of pain I felt as I bawled my eyes out, on my knees I knelt. I could only think that if I were wax, I would not melt. For inside is cold. Use of such a word is bold, but its use I do uphold, no matter what I am told. I can see that getting old. How can Red be the source of such a force that can compel me with such ease of course. I realize here the missing part. The piece I left apart is that only of my aching heart.