Warm and pink?

Thoughts crashed in waves of flashes—

I once believed love was red, fierce like wildfire’s scars.

I let it scorch me, thinking it would pull me through,

But then you appeared, cutting through my mind like a jolt of lightning.

In that blinding moment, I knew I was wrong,

In ways that felt like wounds left open for far too long.

Love isn’t red; it’s pink,

Soft like dawn’s blush, a gentle, fleeting glow.

Not dark, but a tender light that seeps,

Through the cracks where the heart quietly weeps.

The day I first saw you, the world didn’t blaze in red,

It hushed into a soft pink, like a bruise that quietly spread.

The stories I knew of love kept me strong,

Convinced it would consume me all along.

But when fragments of you touched mine,

It took just a moment to see—

You don’t consume love; you strip it bare,

Until all that remains is love, tender and rare.