#allegory.

[yfxgeorgia-blog]

enjoy the snow.

@yfxyifan

georgia wakes up first.

from where she has lain down, she watched as the sunlight traveled from the corner of the suite, grazing over the spanish rug, and to the end of the bed. all white sheets, crinkled with light, fabric fragrance. hinting in lavender, slowly withering as it must’ve dispersed into the skin from when they’ve fallen into a deep slumber. she pulls the blanket up to her nose, closes her eyes, and is awaken to the skittering road noises, as to provide for sounds for a city. albeit, that there was something gentle from how the morning awakens itself than any city she has ever known. mild in nature, spring is coming and the 8 o'clock shine caters to radiance. her eyes no longer wish to be closed anymore. she cannot find any use for slumber.

she doesn’t rise out of bed in a disruptive mood, but rather, on a different end to most contraries. but, before all else, she turns to yifan with a steady look; sleepy and adoring in the eyes. brushes some stray strands of hair out of his eyes, as they were still closed shut. georgia doesn’t say a single word. nor does she act upon causing disarray as he slept. it was a silenced moment of joy to look at him, as always, a reminder of her unyielding passion that cannot be fortified. it’s easy to love when one allows their heart to be (in great measures) infatuated with another. but even better when it’s without restriction. without the burden of showing concern in excessive heaps.

without further ado, georgia tosses the heavy blankets off her body and falls to her feet. draping over one of the lounge chairs, she takes the shirt and slips her arms in its sleeves. she began walking freely without socks; redirecting from the bathroom and to the kitchen, even to the balcony to see new activities on the avenues. she makes coffee: the old colombian brew as promised on its packaging, and leans against the counter as the water boils. then, pours the hot beverage into mugs of two and re-enters the bedroom. georgia sets the coffee mugs on a nightstand near her end of the bed.

“yifan,” she called. it was said more in the form of a murmur, soft and low, hinting in raspiness as that was her first word spoken in the morning. “baby, it’s morning.”

[yfxgeorgia-blog]

@iseulxyf:

As assertive and energetic as she could be at school, it definitely didn’t reflect her habits once she stepped foot inside her apartment. The moment she got back home she flung her bra across the room, changed into something more comfortable and tucked herself in on the couch. She was usually exhausted after a typical day, and the best remedy for that was to do absolutely nothing. Hours had passed since she last looked at the time, and when her phone lit up she realized that it was later than she thought. One arm snaked around the two cats sprawled across her limbs and opened the text. She might’ve been completely depleted of energy before, but this effectively brought her back to the mindset needed to get shit done. Unfortunately the slumbering felines stole her thunder as she couldn’t just barge up from the couch in vigor, so Iseul proceeded to carefully peel the animals off of her lap before getting up and letting the blanket pool around her feet.

[ text; s - georgia caldwell ] if you tell me where you are i can pick you up.

And grab some food while she’s at it? Yes, perfect. Even if this ended up being Georgia texting the wrong number, or simply pulling her leg, Iseul still hunted her bra down and got into an old pair of jeans. She was hungry so she’d go out for some food regardless, and if she ended up escorting the young woman home that was just a plus.

god!ー then came a disruptive sound, a pervading sound of the sort. a noise that pierces from its predicted outburst and stays with you. an electric thrill, brief as it overwhelmed the ruins of the darkened street. she smelled the air heavy with musk, weighted with the dampness of the showers from rain. she could find, rather, in preference of a personal peculiarity, that time no longer ran on the basis of speed. that she no longer felt acquainted to any set imperative. the threshold that held her lacking, but most awake memories now lies in the responsibility of her actions.

though in truth, she looks to the red light and feels as if she will burn. her resistance, her ability to have relation with stability deserted itself gone. because a stranger would look at her, and she’d see them as ambiguous bodies that their speech couldn’t make up for their funny faces. and they talked, voicing their concerns, and still, their words are venom to her ears and they must be growing two more eyes from the backs of their heads. it couldn’t be denied that the world seemed topsy-turvy now, either. georgia walks a careless sway, an angry and confused drinker. the back of her throat would sear when she breathed the surrounding air. she begins yelling at the sky.

[ sms, ms. kham ]     » hlleo hi yes tis the     » yKnow that,smile ass bar on the cornrer     » its like teo minutes away from     » like you ccant msi it its two or five Seven bloxks down from sundog

[ ー AUDIO ATTACHMENT ー ]

    » I CAN’T FUCKING LOOK AT THE SCREEN ANYMORE I WANNA REGURGITATE MY OWN EYES AAGHHHh

she slips on the glistening sidewalk, sitting down. she watches as though a home from across seems to be communicating with each other and buries her face in her hands. oh, for she can’t find her senses, that she is unruly beyond sharpness.

[ sms, ms. kham ]     » mmmmmmm if U dont. come by soon im Gonna feedmmyslf to the ants,and Rats that allredy died.     » but then my hw was nevr quite like this. got it bas got it bad got it bad im hot for counselor :p

[yfxgeorgia-blog]

gratification.

@yfxchorong

“dammit,” she observed. although much of it, sounded considerably like a petty grievance. between the external glare of fluorescent lighting above her head, there, bore the roars of the shower room's air vent. frustrated, she gives herself relief when she extends an arm out from the curtain. she is twisting the knob, turning its dial with the progress of dust. nothing would serve her but the cold. therefore, the better has yet to improve, or rather, be complete. she peered into the showerhead, obligated to find loose-dangling droplets from where they sprout. her arm is dry, no moisture, though she keeps drawing her fingers back into her palm and forth. she seemed to be in an usual awareness that brought confusion, most likely to have been frustrated. she refuses to quit turning, and turning, and turning, until when she feels her palm grow white with splotches of red.

for this reason of, there is something odd, something dysfunctional, that cannot bring heated water her way. there is only the mocking of her breathing left in the shower room, and the air vent. georgia crosses her arms. she leaves, and the owl shaped bath rug of which she stood on, has deflated eyes.

she tried, she failed. she waited, but only grew more and more impatient. when she leaves, she exits with a final attempt. a towel was thrown over her shoulder with yesterday’s fresh laundry of clothes in her arms. she could already predict that her dorm's working necessities made irritation to spoil. closing the door from behind her, georgia took it upon herself to patrol up and down the halls. knocking from dorm to dorm, she discovered many of her housemates not being able to answer. a flight downstairs it took her. georgia’s determination, however, not bruised nor battered. approaching a dorm room that stood on its own, in the corner, would she find her answer. she lifts her knuckles, and knocks.

[yfxgeorgia-blog]

espresso my feelings.

@yfxyoobin

she was only right about a few things, really: the weather, how to dress accordingly, but not so much as far as pathways go. so to say, that her nativity kicked in with the willingness to roam. pointer fingers extending and happy gasps, ‘we have to go here!’ and ‘there!’ followed by no understanding. a longtime companion of trusting her instincts is what she takes with her. out on the streets is where the people of the city could be found. faces without names, although, no meaning to names without faces. people of all ages! their motives are unknown, just as to hers to them. to the side of the road, she notices, that there is a curve to the street. broken, skidded pebbles lying on a cold surface. must’ve rained from hours before.

her persistence is determined by the strange, adventurous turns to take. she knows better than to rely on her memory, that the saturday before today, she would retrace her steps back. in the middle of all this, coining in with a talent to convince, she mentions their journey shouldn’t be doomed because of time. she could feel the sun hit the top of her cheekbones, an always-staying, searing-touching bit of heat. normally, it’s the mornings that set the rest of the conditions of either warm or cold, dry or humid, in between or lacking. she takes yoobin by the arm. slips her hand alike the loops of a chain.

in an area where people are hollering on the tops of their lungs, she speaks louder. “they do everything right in front of your eyes,” georgia begins. “you smell the fish, the seafood, go into another area where spices are more.. y’know, bolder, i guess, and then you realize it’s a funky mixture of ginger and paprika. like now.” she grins and thumbs at her nose to rid of a funny fuzzy feeling.

“..though i don’t think we came here for spices.”

[ankledogs]

REWIND: 1979.

@streetxofxcrocodiles !!

       well chosen were the decorations of her shop. in due to the characteristics of several pieces of furniture, the arrangement was flattering. he’d always thought her joint of location was usually pleasing. there was no pretending of the sincerity. the joy of relaxation came as welcomed as it should, more often than forced, and has left him inducing restfulness. entering with grace was the lighting of a tuesday afternoon. luckily, did the clouds parted away to make room for vibrancy being encouraged. he was good humored in terms of today, hopeful to put the day’s worth in review on a happy ending note.

       however, he was unsure as to how might he cost himself of his demeanor. imaginably, should he be deliberate and cautious, wither away any ties with unambiguous manners. it’s better to be precise with how might things be carried out, their executions, followed by hinting blueprints. what was to his odds to expect the unexpected? surely, he had grown averagely to the exposure of surprises. already sheltered away from the heat of july, he readily slouched on a seat. next, he lifts his eyes towards the woman who now, has his undivided attention.

       “i’d hate for today to be all show and no go,” francisco declares. on the soundest bit of authority, he relied on his self-reliant charm. it was an understatement of trivial importance, although that didn’t halt his ability to be a good reason for. he glanced at her display of various jars, containers and items stowed away for closure.

       “what’s the tuesday special for the closest thing to see hendrix?” he paused for effect. “besides in a dream, of course.”

[ankledogs]

@foxglowe !!

       “sometimes, she’d..”

       “..and the paper on the walls?”

       “did he look into the cellar?”

       he was astounded. for some minutes he remained quiet— couldn’t have done no more than he already has. or rather, to say, without the energy of. he stirred his wine glass, still mindful of the various, muted conversations. at his shoulders, the people kept talking, and he hadn’t been engaged in much to say. the music in the restaurant was a bland evening song on repeat, making up for the overhearing. he made up his mind, considerably a little disorientated, as he sat among the folks who ate, drank, and socialized redundantly. his stare was empty. his purpose on an invited outing was vacant. he found no significance. there was very little drive, no push. they offered the refilling of his glass, and he smiled. later then, did he excuse himself with his pay enclosed in a checkbook.

       previously: he had seen a young woman. he saw her once and once was enough. once was enough to relive a fleeting memory of a love he has yet to forgotten. to his eyes, she was as young as ever, still as beautiful from the last day of their parting. his last sip of wine rendered him drowsy, though he will not forget. it’s been so long, who would’ve known that he’d find her once more?

       he smoked. lit up a cigarette, asked an idle person to his side for the help with their lighter. he inhaled and exhaled, crushed the bud and tossed it to where disposal was appropriate.

       outside, he will wait upon her arrival.

[ankledogs]

@quantvs !!

       he wasn’t able to say, without confidence, how long he had been awake to witness the waking of the city. the consequences welcomed a restless wound. the heaviness in his eyelids, the growing numbness as the night continued to progress, he rested with open eyes. the reddish-neon numbers of an alarm clock from a distance, clung to a blur. in silence, he concentrated on the blue-purple streaks of five am into six. carefully, as to not disturb the stillness, he watched as the sky lose its darkness of color. it was a wonderful sight. a calming sight. accordingly, he put aside an hour of a day that awaited him (of troubles, eventual conflict, so forth). later, will he set out upon his daily routine, in such a way where he has yet to be in a hurry.

       during this all, he became aware. for the first time, ever since the beginning of comfort in a place not of his possession, he realized. to him, he was able to demonstrate and make a home, that wasn’t of his own, one to live in with hope. in a quickened assumption, it all occurred to him as a darker than yellow, but not necessarily yellow, licked the corner of the sky. it pierced through the thinning curtains, into his bedroom, creating shadows of the morning behind dressers, chairs, and desks. he wasn’t tied to no specific emotion. he took it upon himself to react freely.

       he refused to keep track of time, but rather, prepare an image of numbers. francisco counts as he stretches. he’s sure to breathe. allow air to circulate into the lungs, reaching the brain, and back out through the nostrils. rising to his feet and off the bed, he figured to greet his roommate. for the longest, even when unsaid, he was very grateful. an immense help she’d been. he couldn’t speak merely and only on astonishment, for that he’ll feel overly modest.

       he lifts his knuckles to her bedroom door and carefully, knocks. when it had become known that he shares a disinterest in loud noises, he’s gentle. “iris?” he asks. he asks for her time, if available.

       “iris?”

[ankledogs]

WE WANT WAR.

@oculvus !!

       the rays of the moon stricken the street. he did not believe it, that a reason should be useful for the searchings of the whole block. for each time his sight became leveled with the deficiency of light, he looked to the moon. him and his unnatural curiosity, exhausted with fatigue. justly, he had been escaping from the sun all throughout the day. treading along the lone sidewalks, kicking gravel from beneath his heels. there was a missing joy to be felt. now that the winds are howling, the light of day finally has sunken to be gone for another dozen hours, what was left of seoul seemed to be unmoving.

       the chill was arguably an ordinary, frigid fortune. there were no wrongs, no inadequate suspicion that the darkness could ever be warmer. he became dissatisfied with his ceaseless pacing from forward and back, have already spent his energy on other doings. he breathes in and exits a breath. for a moment, he watches his breath parts from his lips and dissolve into the rest of the atmosphere. quickly, his mind is made up, and he disposes the habit of aimless walking. he turns down from the avenue in place of his loitering, remembers the way home, and proceeds.

       thinking earnestly to himself with his hands in his coat pockets, he forgets one train of thought to another. with the loss of one thing, he wonders with reluctance. to a greater extent, he tries to take his mind off of the unwantedness of the future. unsettlingly, he ponders on what waits for him, for the law of fate to come. when he steps before streets to cross, he watches as bodies stagger over roads. being heard were their voices filling the emptiness of ‘nature’ with no boundaries: outside. he took it upon himself for a mental evaluation of a pursuit. he’ll begin tomorrow. promised himself that he’ll forbid from anymore courses to explore the world of night.

       intelligently, he decides to take a shortcut. a quicker route, sure, but oftentimes a fool’s way to trouble. there’s a dent in the concrete where water fills the trench. the time is nearing towards midnight, and francisco looks up. there is a woman whom he hasn’t seen before, so his immediate intuition questions him, what might she want? her eyes bring the pain of vengeance. never was a stare so intimidating, he wanted to step back.

       he has ought to run.