ʀᴇᴠᴇʀɪᴇ

They treat me like a legend, am I really this cold? I’m really too young to be feeling this old. Yeonghun. A dreamboat infatuated by the sea. The Star.

[ffsrome]

— dreamscape; repeatedly.

[arcyeonghun]

arcjaehwa:

(…)

“so, what?” he asks, turning around when he had finished observing his surroundings. “you’re just gonna be in all my dreams now? are you really that bored? your own dreams not cutting it out for you?” if he were to be completely honest about things, the fact that yeonghun kept appearing in his dreams wasn’t something he was that angry about, but it wasn’t something that excited him either. dreams never reflected real life memories, at least for him, and so keeping his past a secret wouldn’t be a problem. at least, he hoped so.

“or is it cause you find the idea of me so appealing that you have to follow me around, even if my dreams? cause - “ he starts off, only to be stopped by a sound coming from the end of the hallway. “what the fuck is that?” he asks, mostly to himself, though it’s out loud so it’s open for interpretation. just as soon as he had said it, it sounds again, something like a ball bouncing, echoing from the far end of the stretched marble floors.

If you boiled everything down, the two were clear representations of conflicting liquids that never found integration with one another, yet were somehow essential in divine creation. Water and oil, fire and ice. The awkward undulate balance of equilibrium would continue to swing between the strange acquaintances – who seemed much more like strangers outside of the dreamscape – like a pendulum.

With a somber – perhaps apologetic – gaze that cast a glance over towards the other, Yeonghun found Jaehwa’s wandering orbs digging into the architecture that he had concocted somewhere between concurrent memories and fictional imaginationations. The layers of regal, grandiose marble licked a line down a hall that was peppered with doors. The archways represented old rococo fashioned carvings that seemed to compliment the lavished wood that dusted like accents within the cabin. But as he found himself admiring the musings of the other, he quickly snapped back when he heard the retorts spilling out.

Bored? If he was bored, he would have wandered through the dreams of someone he was fond of. Yeonghun bit his tongue before the words crept between his teeth to expel into the open air. Honestly, he was just too tired to control who he had projected himself on to – although he had wished it was no one at all. Jaehwa was just a victim, like Yeonghun himself. But rather dwell, he had already decided to humor their time together. Besides, they always seemed to have fun when Jaehwa was asleep.

As ironic as that was.

He pursed his lips and gave his head a few nods, as if he were analyzing the words with sustenance, “…Funny, I haven’t dreamt in a while.” Clearing his throat, he dove his hands into his pockets and let them rummage through the void of cotton while he turned on his heel and pretended to continue his tour of the sculpture made by the artist before him.

“…You know what they say,” and even Yeonghun could hear the unsteady rocking the pulsed in his throat, “Opposites attract.”

Did they? Honestly, he was bullshitting himself.

“Besides, I never invite myself. You’re the one handing out the party –" A harsh ricochet drummed in the back, the timbre almost hollow to the ear. Yeonghun craned his neck and shot a look towards the other, but alas, their expressions mirrored one another. What the fuck did you do it seemed to read from their matching knitted brows to half-way scowls.

”Hey man, this ain’t my dream. It’s yours. You tell me what the fuck that is.”

[archyuna-blog]

off the deep end

[arcyeonghun]

archyuna:

(…)

She could spend hours here, just swimming, feeling the water, letting it surround her, and she wasn’t sure just how long she had been here already when she noticed someone else. There, hanging lazily at the side, one limb dipped into the water. She raised a brow, and it brought a small chuckle as she swam over, climbing up on the edge, resting on her elbows, looking curiously at the other. Yeonghun, she recalled. There were only a handful of lessons and training sessions they had together, enough to know who he was, but they rarely met outside of those.

“You don’t look dressed for swimming”

And he couldn’t count the number of days he had been away from water, it had been so long.

Hunched over his own lap – legs crossed in an awkward fashion due to his lack of flexibility – his fingertips skid the volatile glass tempered surface while the water nibbled at the layer of his skin submerged in the chlorine. The familiar lure of the siren sung a silent tune as he moved his fingers in an undulate motion beneath the translucent skin, but nature was an entirely different creature. Cold and cruel, she never once relinquished the warmth he was suddenly experiencing with the containment of water before him. But all at once, she brought along the same consequence of the cold woman of nature. It was no use in evading her because all he thought about was her salty brine drying against his skin with the warm, tender kisses from the sun baking his soaked hair.

And he fell in love with her all over again.

The same exuberant shyness that dyed his nape pink conjured the same overwhelming, undying fear that he knew had him submissive to her true nature. That was the initial reason he felt so compelled to conquer her, and he never wanted her to change. However, deep in his own mess of jumbled musings, he wished he could have.

Sipping envy through a narrow stirring straw that never seemed to grow, he watched the figure he envied emerge from beneath the crest while crystal droplets blessed over her head and clung like dew on her hair. The wistful movement of her vessel moving through the tensioned substance provoked a certain amount of jealousy that rumbled beneath his ribs. The longing never sufficed, but he just never seemed to be able to enter her labyrinth. Even in such a controlled environment such as the pool. As she approached him, he felt the awkward need to sit up. Shoulders rolled back, he cleared his throat as a smile cracked over his lips.

”…Haha yeah? People don’t swim in jeans?”

[ffsrome]

— dreamscape; repeatedly.

[arcyeonghun]

arcjaehwa:

(…)

wandering steps lead him to a brightly colored field, though the colors fade into a monochrome in the distance, and it seems like for some reason it’s getting closer and closer to sucking the color out from under his feet. a sense of imminent danger is lacking through this progression, however, so he feels safe. less color didn’t always mean anything negative, after all.

the cabin in the middle of the field draws nearer as small steps are taken closer, a force dragging him onto the front steps before a light rasp comes against the wooden door. there’s a feeling that he’s expecting something from this before the door opens. “yeonghun?” he asks when his eyes fall onto the other’s features, and there’s something in his consciousness that gets irritated enough for his feelings to change about the situation. “what the fuck are you doing here, again?”

Intelligence had a unique hand in administrating mental stimulation – the availability of plugging one chord to the next and driving a visual conundrum to associate with symbolism such as sound, taste, smell, or touch – that could create an onslaught of possibilities to those with enough imagination to create entertainment with scarce resources. It was no wonder as to why those with mental illnesses either had too much, or not enough. And those with a lower IQ distribution were offered physical feats that would easily find distraction when the brain was not up to par, so to speak, with others.

And he was a happy, helpful mix of both. Equal parts as lazy as he was uncreative, and well, stupid. Ignorant, maybe? Amongst various other reasons, the strange hand he was dealt when it came to involvement with other missions twisted his arm back and ripped it out of its socket, forcing him to lend his strange ability to the Arc and aid his peers with his half-assed cooperation. And it wasn’t that his efforts were half-assed, but to help he literally had to sleep.

Though his complaints went on to travel towards deaf ears because no one had the power to alter the present – nor were they willing to, anyways – it never discouraged his spirit when it came to complaining about the fact that his ability was complete and utter shit. And yes, it was seen as fascinating, or powerful – in the instance he could travel through the unconscious, vulnerable thoughts that lingered amongst even the most vicious of slumbering minds – the fact that it was not a tangible power left him feeling useless.

But, being the hooligan that he was, he was able to suck some fun out of invading people’s privacy.

In particular, the pyro bastard that seemed to always have a bone to pick with him. As hot headed – pun intended – as he was, adventuring through Jaehwa’s dreams seemed to lend a different perspective on the younger individual. It became visibly clear, after the first time Yeonghun decided to force his way through, that Jaehwa was not as malicious as he had originally encountered. And, to top it all off, he was an active dreamer which allowed the pair to experience a variety of strange activities. Go figure.

But he had consciously stopped after the first visit, realizing that he was trespassing with an advantage that he knew was not fair. However, Yeonghun was still premature when it came to controlling who he projected to and when, especially when he slumped back to his bed from missions that drained his tank. Unfortunately, he would find himself lingering amongst his fire friend’s unconscious thoughts more than he had intended.

Which was included in this evening’s itinerary.

A set of chair legs, balanced on the hinds, held up his poorly postured figure. Only time could offer when he would finally encounter the, literal, sleepyhead he had found himself in. As the wood creaked from his rocking weight, he finally heard the soft beating against the entrance. While dropping the chair back on all fours, he let a moment pass, wondering if he should open the door or perhaps wait in the very corner until his physical being woke.

But his hand is already on the knob, turning it as he was met with a boiling temper, “…Hey man. I see you missed me.”

[arcyeonghun]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛʏ ғᴀʟʟ

Entrust the sword to swing, the shield to protect, but the wit to diminish all faulty vices – the mighty may fall, but the weak fall faster.

Physical pain has the ability to extinguish the curdling of emotions that could draw lucid gobs of despondence – at least for the fleeting moment. Much like breathing, oxygenating the microscopic blood cells to dye themselves cardinal as they swarmed through the pipes that hooked along the coursing pathways of the body, distracting the rest of the organs to function. Robbing oxygen would result in a desolate cobalt that repeatedly found itself lingering on wrists and necks like bruised kisses from aggression and desperation that burned and melted along the skin. But oxygen was a distraction, just like pain itself.

With his crown tipped back, hung heavy amassed the pinnacle of vertebrae mingling with the arched and aching nerves that entangled his spine while pinned against the robust trunk nestled between the fronds and twine, he structured himself carefully beneath the nestled shadows to shroud himself within the thicket that jabbed at his sheathed skin. Calves throbbing from carrying him in vicious ellipses to bypass the individuals that were up at his throat to test his ability to surpass them with either combat or skill – both of which he entirely lacked. As his weight grew heavy against the lumber, the countless hours that drilled him with exhaustion began to catch up. Blessed – or perhaps cursed, who knew really? – with abilities did not make him any less human.

Inhale.

The dull drumming of the muscle caged within his chest felt as if it were knocking at his sternum, lulling a percussion that eventually crawled up and drifted down the canals of his ears in an effort to tempt slumber. And as the pace slowed with each careful breath, he couldn’t help but to succumb to his deepest desire – to sleep.

Exhale.

Metallic drops of polluted crystals spilled onto his tongue while wiping away the sleeping remnants that dusted the arcs and edges of his eyes with a tender touch of lashes that raked at his lids. The luminous shards began scraping along the swelling beneath his eyes, offering only biting torment as he peered up towards the overarching skyscrapers that crowded around him, observing as the translucent beads hung suspended in the air, frozen. Whispering pads of alabaster fingertips plucked the clear marbles surrounding him, a meticulous task that seemed calculated with every adjustment.

When their eyes finally met in the midst of her strumming, his chest swelled as he stole what stiff oxygen he could manage to hide into his lungs. Reverting only to a sheepish shell of himself, he emitted a chuckle to diminish the silence that seemed to waft around them amongst the dense and muggy air. The thought forced his expression to become flustered as he parted his lips and she proceeded to place her palm over his eyes. And with that simple touch, he felt as if he skin had grew molten hot, melting on the asphalt that coddled him.

”You’re late.”

Was he? But he doesn’t object, wetting his lips before he calmly started the descending digits, “Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

While the numbers departed, falling out of his mouth like a blind mantra created amongst sacred and holy text, whispered like the hymns jammed between the literature – much like the enkindled touch that shielded his vision – he found his denouement nearing, “…Six, five, four.”

The soft chortle of her voice chimed as if he had winded a music box, “Three, two…”

Rising, his eyes opened his lips parted once more, for the last number, “One.”

And he was sprinting.

Each step froze the puddles into place, glass marbles undisturbed after meeting inertia midway and existing as shards. The emphasized inclination and various arteries that littered the municipality were designed with careful caution to encase her subconscious, and keep her out of his reach. But he was always a challenger, a seeker of accomplishment.

And he may have promised her that, no matter how or where, he would find her.

Even that much seemed too much, but he would say anything to keep her where she was. The strange longing that found him, after two decades of drought, seemed as though such existence would be feasible however, entirely unnatural. But like the way hands were shaped, it felt as if he filled the gaps. They were a sort of gestalt – never to touch, but the light and space had the ability to complete itself.

”…Gotcha.”

And at the very moment that his fingertips were finally able to kiss her marble skin, he watched as each muscle that constructed her face began to fall. Each bone contorted, tugged along with his flinching hand as the chiming music box that bumped along the patterned metal with dissonance, scraped into a traverse coil that warped into agonized wailing. Crystal shards began leaking from the edges of her eyes as the buildings fell like curtains around him. With each step, the asphalt began to crumble, rising up and fluttering like speckles of dandelion debris dyed obsidian.

And he was back.

…But the crying kept on.

Pouncing up onto his feet, his entire body seemed to pulse with adrenaline. Mercy was given to each ache and sore that afflicted him just moments before because he suddenly found himself sharp and alert, bulleting through the vegetation as he shoved away the vines that whipped at him. The desperate attempt to keep him going forced his chest to strain, begging that he ration his blood as he pushed through the unmade trails. And when he thought he had found the source, he instead found her. Unharmed and lacking the pained expression he had seen between then and now.

With an exaggerated sigh, he halted as his feet crunched at the chips beneath his soles. And he rolled his eyes as if he were detaching his optic nerve manually, “What in the fuck, Yura.”

And the crying was even louder now.

[dazzlingkai]

[adult-book]

[arcyeonghun]

ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛ ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛ

[arcyeonghun]

arcareum:

(…)

the brunette is promptly drawn to distraction when the whisper of the man’s voice reaches her ears, one delicate brow lifting as she looks up, examines him. “you know there are signs.” she informs him on a soft drawl, half sweet and half flattened, as if to say ‘its somewhat endearing that you’re this fucking foolish’.  he stares back at her, perhaps bewildered by her sudden intrusion, and she takes that as invitation to sweep into the aisle, the long chiffon of her skirt, pleated and straight, swirling around slender legs. she taps a little sign at the end of the aisle, up on a pole. “its a cactus. they’re all cacti.”

dark eyes regard him for a moment, and truly he does seem quite out of his element. “the succulents are in the back, would you like me to show you where?

With his tender exuberance, he could have fooled the blind with hands that could pass off for a child’s longing to care and nurture. It had always been a yearning of his to raise the living and breathing. Yeonghun could still recall the countless years he had begged for a puppy – like any irrational seven year-old that wanted all the responsibilities of playing with small and feeble creatures but cutting corners with the parts that included feeding and potty-training. But his father pitied him and bought him a goldfish that ironically, was overfed due to Yeonghun’s all too diligent “care”. Even the proper burial – more specifically, the ten year-old boy and his younger brother digging a small ditch in the backyard and dropping the lifeless marine into the dirt – was poorly done; the neighborhood cats had found their way into the tomb and excavated its contents.

Within earshot, the sharpened tinge of a strummed harpsichord carried with a voice that crept into his ears, the sound so full it fell into his throat as his head craned towards the figure in the distance that drew him. The hem of her skirt managed to caress his bare ankle with a trickling touch that drew his eyes towards the fabric, before managing to hold eye contact with the young face before him. Without a chance to respond, lips parted, she was quick to mention the guides that stood in front of the aisles – that he perhaps ignored.

But what was absolute was that the poor man was an adolescent, consumed and trapped in the body that matured earlier than his mental reflection. Which has the sarcastic, saccharine pout create an etude that ricochets through his ear canals for only a moment as his eyes drag along her pale arm, staring towards where her fingers drape with an elegant referral towards the scrawl, missing out on the subliminal question of his intelligence. Or rather, common sense.

"…Is a succulent not a cactus?” Lacking a flush of embarrassment that he should have acquired from the response of the female, he settled the young prickly seedling back into the crowd before giving the crown a gentle pat as if to say thank you because he owed the little bit of Earth gratitude, after all, “I had heard –“

But he stopped himself, sheepish to reveal that no one had mentioned it directly to him, rather he had overheard the mention, “…Was told, that succulents were desert plants.”

Tipping his head forward once, he leaned forward and gestured both his hands down the way with his palms faced up, “Please lead the way, madame.”

[wvthering]

decided by fate

[arcyeonghun]

arcsora:

(…)

“i’m not from here and i got lost,” sora explains, looking around awkwardly. it should be obvious that she is not a native, or at least not used to that part of the city. “could you please tell me the best way to get back to the center?” she asks, looking around once again, just in case.

her mind works like she is always on an endless fight: be ready to strike, look at your surroudings and mostly, don’t ever underestimate your opponent. she looks at the boy, waiting at least directions, she can take it from there. “i have no idea of how i arrived here.” sora adds, chuckling a bit to keep herself calm.

A moment manages to creep between them before she responds with a careful bout of collected words. They are particularly plucked to follow the string of engagement that would allow a sense of calmness to intermingle. It was a familiar type of phrasing that he cannot even recall the last time he had encountered. And what he seemed to sense the most was the serenity that hummed through her teeth.

The steady recapitulation of her words spared him a moment of reminiscence, the timbre of her voice lacking the curled tongue of dialect. The compact human before him did not have to tell him twice that she was foreign here, he knew just by the way she spoke – the similar molten style of words that belonged to city slickers and stained his own tongue. And though he got used to forcing out the ocean language that leaked through the teeth of its denizen, he never quite found it natural.

Yeonghun swallowed up his playful ploy to tease the individual before him, shrouding it behind a set of concerned eyes rather than a leaking smile, “…Do you usually tell strangers you’re lost?”

But he only says that to poke fun at her before he catches a glint of…Something that seems to coil in her irises. Gently pulling himself back, he quickly offers the reveal – on the off chance she tries to kill him – “Just clowning, ha. I can actually show you to it, if that makes it easier.”

Pausing, he gestured behind her with his arm extended towards the general perimeter, “Actually, I have a quick errand to run, drop the shit back to where I am at and I can be your tour guide ‘cause I’m free for the rest of the day.”

As if to confirm his own schedule, his head drops once in the motion of a swift nod. However, he felt as if he ate back his words just as quickly as he spout them. Offering a sheepish grin, he shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, “I mean, if you’re cool with me being your tour guide. I’m a cool stranger though. I won’t try and like, go for a beat down or anything.”

[koreantunes]

Visit Original Link

[wordsnquotes]

I was horrified by life, at what a man had to do simply in order to eat, sleep, and keep himself clothed.

Charles Bukowski, Factotum

[songersi-deactivated20171019]

[arcyeonghun]

ʟᴀᴄᴜs ᴛɪᴍᴏʀɪs

But even the lunar tides grow worn and weary, constantly kissing the rubble that dusts the surface of its mate. Why do you think there are footsteps, and not feet, left?

The capacity at which humans can tolerate stress tends to be overlooked. And though experts claim martyrs and miracles, what deems these humans competent enough to be granted even just a moment of immorality which reigns a cut above the rest? Is it simply Darwinism? Are these individuals the fittest amongst their species? Or perhaps, have they been naturally selected to not succumb to destruction as their fellow humans have? They say a battle of mind over matter, mind shall overcome.

But does the mind really overcome?

The reverbing hums that regurgitated amongst the cacophony of insect chatter spun and manifested through the canals of his ears, forcing him to partake in drinking the accumulating resonance that clamored in the gray matter that sloshed through his skull. As the spinning needle conducted by a symphony of cicadas blew their impromptu through his flesh, the rise and fall of his chest began to subside. Each breath that caught in his throat manifested careful consciousness as he finally managed to slow the pulsing that throbbed at his neck, sinking its teeth along his veins before swallowing the calm that would soon swim through his blood.

A chill kissed at his nape as he felt the foundation crumble beneath him.

The walls are shifting with an eerie silence, slicing through predetermined patterns as they danced amongst the plane to reveal onyx barricades draped amongst a coal mezzanine. The amount of clairvoyance that is revealed deceives his eyes, offering fog crusts amongst the obsidian labyrinth. Tilting his head back as his pupils adjusted to the change in light, he was met with infinite obscurity that conjured a feeling of anxiousness in the pit of his being.

It takes a slew of miscounted minutes before the process of his nerves wakes through his bones, nipping at his stiffened muscles to rotate his joints forward – as if each segment of his body were not his own, but one piece of a whole tempting him to bring them all forward. And he hears the crack of his own exhausted voice slip through his parched lips, move. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, his aching arches force him forward and through the halls of the plagued embankment that has him trapped between it.

And he counts each steady step to keep himself focused, his eyes locked on each foot setting itself in front of the other.

One, two, three.

It starts to feel natural, comfortable even, as he continued through the passage while the walls felt as if they were engulfing him deeper and deeper into its belly.

Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven.

And he wonders if there is a sudden incline, peering behind himself only to see the same trail behind him as is forward. Yet, his breaths are getting slower, steeper as if each one were desperately begging to escape.

So he speeds up.

Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty.

Acrid, copper tainted bile formed in the back of his throat as he finally noticed that he was not responsible for the anxiety that began to consume him.

The walls were getting narrow.

And he stops counting.

A sudden flood grips around his throat, delving him into the sapphire brine that cages him within itself. The blood in his fingers escapes as he feels his vision disjunction, seamlessly revealing a path to the surface above him with cement licking at his ankles. And when he opens his mouth to utter a scream, a breath, a word – it’s gone.

There isn’t even a puddle around his feet.

The rest is left to his body as he hears the stammering steps propelling him forward, aiding him in an escape that would hopefully allow him to regain his sanity that has been forfeited once more to the single thing that kept him hostage. And he’s panting until he sees the vague outline of a figure, forcing him to slow but not quick enough as his body slams into the other

"...Geez, you saw me coming at full speed, and didn't bother to move!"

[wvthering]

decided by fate

[arcyeonghun]

arcsora:

(…)

walking is good even if her legs feel tired, if her shoulders hurt and she still feels the tension. as it usually happens when she is upset sora ends up in some place she doesn’t know. the streets look darker even in broad daylight and the places look sketchy, but she is not scared. being a black belt in a martial arts give her a confidence not many women have when walking alone somewhere she doesn’t know.

it still doesn’t take the fear away completely, and soon sora tries to find her way back into the better parts of the city. she starts to walk faster, her mind creating different scenarios of what could happen to her, and it’s only stopped when she turns a corner and hits something, or someone. “i’m sorry” she says instintively, looking at the man – boy, actually – she hit, watching him tower over her. “i’m sorry” sora repeats for good measure, her mother taught her manners after all, and it’s always better to look unthreatening.

Fear made humans tremble in their wake and cause irreversible and completely irrational terror to engross every fiber of their being. Fear was an enemy that lurked quietly beneath the firm handshakes of former friends, behind the laughter in a mother's voice, and between the whispers of romantics. Fear gave birth to consequence which in turn, fell in love with guilt. Fear, however, contained compassion, caution, and comfort. It created boundaries and taught where danger may exist. But consequence gave every ounce of its existence to guilt, feeding it tenderly with soft spoken, coupounded madness that would perpetually continue to fester along its flesh.

And in the end, the true enemy was guilt.

It was what riddled holes in Yeonghun, causing him to leak no matter how many times he attempted to patch up the corroded abrasions that marred every waking thought.

And from there, it didn't take long for him to drown.

"You'll be fine, kid. You're still young, you've got more chances."

Did he? The better question was if he even wanted these "chances". The amount of self-condemnation seemed to weigh heavier than he had ever imagined. Going nights upon nights without food or water, the grinding spell of hunger that kept him awake beneath a sopping cardboard box did not compare to the disapproval of himself that seemed to cause everything to grow stagnant.

Most of all, himself.

Riding the ocean was all he had, and now what did he amount to? It was in these pondering moments that made him wonder why he was spared. Perhaps his mind was too naive, but he swore to himself that never returning from the sea would have been a blessing.

Or perhaps, it was the same? Though there was no water, he was still drowning. Every morning, every night. All he could imagine was himself drowning.

And now, even wandering the streets, he couldn't seem to escape the voracious hush of the ocean climbing up the sand.

"I'm sorry," the utterance managed to crumble the smell of salty brine that encaptured his thoughts as he peered down towards the apologetic individual before.

"Hey, it's cool. Don't worry about it, I wasn't paying attention anyways," but the expression on her face read a hint of something else. Though Yeonghun had a fairly low amount of common sense, he could at least take a hint, "...Are you looking for something?"

[arcyeonghun]

ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛ ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛ

Blooming blossoms are the most dangerous and fragile, for they have a way to incarnate their sole existence with every season yet with much more strength than their passing.

Exuberance tainted and troubled those with the lack of divulgence in transient, trivial matters which created the speckles of dirt that clung to the corners on the underside of children's nails or shrouded them with peppered droplets of polluted water that seemed to fabricate from the muddy cotton that spilled over their heads. But the intangible concept that warped and wandered between the ribs of the incumbent would diminish as age devoured the drumming existence of curiosity.

With exceptions, of course.

And he himself, could be considered a Lost Boy, his carcass simply a shell that grew to be a home for his physical mass that clung to the sticky inner walls to contain the bits of him that never seemed to stop molting. Fortunately, he would never have to be “thinned out”, with the consideration that his visible growth signified “good” health rather than deceit. At least in the society he lived in. But he often found himself overambitious when it came to certain feats, perhaps due to lack of experience – and the obvious lack of mental growth – especially tasks that were not particularly familiar to him.

Gardening just happened to be at the top of his list for the time being.

With careful, lanky fingers locked around the forest green plastic that cradled the saplings whom dared to puncture through the rich fragments of earth, he turned the sign of vegetation around as if he were observing a porcelain doll. Much to his liking, the hue of the plant seemed to adhere to the descriptions that carried amongst the mouths of the beach dwellers.

It must be you.

The lack of associates – and general company, rather – within the nursery left Yeonghun to his own devices as he scoured through the aisle of thick trunks layered with bristles tickling the back of his neck to the boxes of confetti-colored spheres peeking out of mulch and soil. But at the very least, he knew he was a beginner and when he overheard eavesdropped that there were plants that needed very little attention and thrived regardless, he was dead set on getting his hands on one.

But the more he observed the plant settled in his hands, the more he wondered if this was the one they had called succulent. It had the properties of succulence, round and plump with a voracious appetite for chlorophyll that dyed the body. With a sheepish expression, he craned his head about the quarters – which were just as empty, minus the female an aisle down, as when he had entered – and so he leaned in close to the plant.

”…Are you a succulent?”

[tenwordstory]

I smoked my first cigarette Because it was the closest thing to death I could find One puff, I felt death kiss my lungs And my life grow shorter The second puff, it’s tongue curled mine And butterflies grew inside my decaying stomach I kissed it back, But I wanted To Make love to it. I wanted to know how it’s hands Would feel against my body, And if it’s bitter coldness Would consume my warm body.

-I want to be cold (via tenwordstory)