The Colour Red

The Colour Red

I point to an apple.

 “Red,” I say, and you agree.

But how do I know that your red is the same as mine?  How do I know that I see the same colour as you do, and that we have the same perception of ‘red’?  How do I know that we haven’t just associated a familiar colour with the word ‘red’?  What if how I see red is how you see blue?

 “Move on,” you say, and I agree.

But your version of moving on is forgetting, while mine is forgiving.  Your version of moving on hides the scar, smoothing it over and painting it until it disappears, whilst mine confronts the scar, and accepts it as part of my reality – present, a reminder, kind.

 “It hurts,” I say, and you agree.

But my level of hurt runs deep beneath the surface, resting as weights against my bones and clouding my mind with ache.  Your pain shows up as tears on your face and bruises on your skin, visible and more recognisable than the pain I feel.  But that doesn’t make mine worse, just different.

 “Forever,” you say, and I agree.

But your version of forever stretches on and on until the mind can no longer comprehend it as something tangible, whilst mine ends as soon as my time here does, something that is uncertain, a shaky ending that does not know if it extends beyond conscious life.

 “Different, but the same,” I say, and you agree, for our vision comes from two sets of eyes that see the same world, but our perspective is never the same.

Writer – Olivia Hautler
Editor – Alvin Cheng
Artist – Lily Yee

–September 2026–