One-Hundred Days

I watch as the clouds move their way across my neighbourhood, slow and steady, making the concrete glow in their warm light.
You said that they looked like heaven was on fire, burning from the flames of Nero playing his trumpet. You said Hell had taken over the sky at the golden hour so many of us love, and then you stared at the hidden sun and walked inside.
I had always waited for you to come back once it had gotten dark and the red was erased from my eyes.

My eyes were permanently bloodshot, stained red from nothing at all, if only from staring at the sun to keep my eyes away from you. I saw red in the blue sky, until you covered my eyes with your hand and made me look away. I would simply look back up when you walked away, bored and impatient with my loneliness.
We never got along when the sky turned red. For you everything changed and you were bombarded with memories of all the times you had seen red before. For me, everything stayed the same, I could never tell when it golden hour had arrived except by the shadows cast from your skin, they were always lighter than usual. You always turned your eyes to concrete or found a place untouched by red light, to keep your mind quiet.

I had been seeing red for years before you had even laid eyes on such a colour, but as soon as you saw it, you turned away from everything that reminded you of that single memory. You were only exposed to red once, while I have multiple memories of it that settle like dust in the back of my mind. They gnaw at the brain tissue as the lean against my skull, too lazy to stand upright in the crowded space.
You constantly go back to that one memory that's hardly even a fragment of your mind, constantly shoving it into my face so that you will somehow seem deeper than I am, but you are not. You are as shallow as a parking lot puddle, and you never get any deeper than such. You take that one memory and manipulate it into millions, and become scared of a red sky from the single memory that you pretend haunts you.
You don't see red constantly, you don't have red stained into your mind, red from the hearts and wounds of those you used to love. You don't even know what red looks like, let alone know the way it haunts every breath and memory and dream. My eyes are stained to seeing red constantly, while you never see one bit of it, only what you imagine it to be.

You have never seen red, have never see it in it's true disastrous form.
I have been seeing red my entire life.
Never look away from the red sky again.