@multlfandom - Tumblr Blog

wanna-one-imagine

to wanna one

to sungwoon who only knew how to continue working hard

to jinyoung who blossomed from an unconfident performer into a successful, charismatic center

to minhyun who struggled for his entire career and finally got the recognition he deserved

to jisung who showed that personality and talent transcends age

to guanlin who passionately learns and grows every day

to woojin who flawlessly performed through sickness and pain

to seongwoo who only wants to make the people around him smile

to jaehwan who thought this was his last chance for the world to hear him sing

to daehwi who carried so much burden and hate but never stopped smiling

to jihoon who lives and breathes with the fans in mind

to daniel who finally was able to perform as himself

to wanna one:

we, your wannables, know how much you all have worked for this moment, and we’ll be here every step of the way. we love every single one of you and can’t wait to see what you’ll accomplish ♥︎

congratulations on your debut, wanna one.

#wanna one #emo

#edits

leatherbounddiaries

How a Poet Loves

‘Don’t let this become another story’. That’s what he said to me. Right after we didn’t even kiss just made love with our hands 'Don’t let this become another story’. I wanted to say to him: Too late. It already is one. You wrote it out on the back of my neck I wrote it out on your collarbones - we had conversations on each other’s bodies that only we could understand. And I know that it was in some old forgotten language and that we’re too young to feel anything significant but I’d like to think that whatever half-assed little something we were feeling has a right to be made known. See, I don’t know how to live in anything other than stories. It’s like a label I can give all the bullshit to make it feel worth something, it’s like a label I can give myself to make me feel worth something - I’m a story, I’m a thousand stories, I’m too many stories to read in one lifetime. Because a poet knows a lot of things, but one thing a poet does not know is how to love with only their hands. When a poet loves they love with their teeth. With their eyelashes. With the soles of their feet. A poet loves elbow-deep in sentences without full stops, finger-painting their dreams as if that will make them come true. A poet loves with their heart stuck to ink-stained sleeves, a poet is never clean. There’s always a little burn mark, a little bruise, a little shadow of too much truth. Sometimes I wish I could experience something that wasn’t important enough to tell you, something that didn’t leave me scarred. But I don’t. And I won’t. And I can’t. I’ve got too many gory parts, too many chapters to get stuck on, too many pages you don’t want to turn but turn anyway. I’m the kind of girl with a heart too big for her chest so you’ll find it in my fingertips instead. But these fingertips are not made just to touch you. These fingertips are made to trace the colour back into the black and white side of living, to sieze shooting stars and make them stay, to weave themselves into the soft and broken and bleeding parts of each body they touch and turn them into a story, into something extraordinary. And that’s exactly what I’ll do. And that’s exactly how I’ll love you.