Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
------- INTRO -------
"MEMORIES ARE CRUMBLING LIKE DRIED FLOWER PETALS ON MY FINGERTIPS AND UNDER MY FEET."
RUN bts
------- DUCTION -------
rain had pelted in the most delicate of cyan hues they had ever seen, ones that would coalesce with the soft winds blowing off the edge of the county of where they succumbed to seasons. for seasons blooned in their chests glowing an incandescent peach, in their chests year-long: in four years, a group of flowers crafted origami butterflies from their holly-tinged lips dancing in small smiles and breathy laughter too hard, it puffs out in clouded wheezes. time exists to carry out the leftovers of a crumbled heart; the ache of an artery that may prosper in happiness or drown under the weight of the world: as they say, it's too round to flatten the vocal cords of a screamer (but it does.)
in their palms, they watched the seasons melt. during, raspberry jam reminiscent of a harsh pink only found in the threshold of valentine's day cards, dribbled onto theit hands a prestigious invitation to the cusps of an awaiting summer. honey rhubarb pie crumbs dusted their slack jeans too ripped at their knees, similar to their smiles now to the knock of adulthood. brown sugar granules platted on their fingertips as autumn whirred in, decorating them in a vision of the future too light. not as dark as they thought; only a dessert seokjin could prepare, pretty smiling face.
sometimes, the sunlight would crush the foliage of prompt ambers and pumpkins clamoring to the heavens of their branches; fruitlessness zipped their mouths shut and the icy whips of their strangled screams shriveled the edges of the leaves, yet built them into a thrush of humid greens, a limemade discography classified in its best category. shivering winds happened to be too tender to run their fingers through, indexes warm enough to cause a sunkissed burn the color of gingerbread on the flesh of faces colored of fleeting joy; gardenias puckered the lips of rose welting under a fistful of cherried liquid too dark to be the offspring of crushed fragrant petals but obliviousness defeats the naked truth.
just being beside each other broke twigs in their lungs and withered their roots into willowed petrichor, as if time couldnt have stretched beyond the crooked dead leaves.
immortality is a myth without the presence of the eldest fruit, ripe and the trace of sunshine needed to make photosynthesis. golden mush wettened a sandpaper beige spread against the hollow spaces between their toes and tire tracks loitering charcoal streaks along the seams of the pathway of which they ran and played, nothing else mattered but themselves.
youth. . .takes over summer's position, clashing with its melancholy eyes now syrupy with the juice of the apricots yoongi would strain for salads, although saddened. so fragile it couldn't stand by itself, too alone to walk. youth built in summer's ribcage and he found cherry blossoms kissed away the pain lilies caused him in his heart in the form of its death, now palpitations a measly memory. creased in his palms lay crushed petals, ones similar to his heart.
the cycle continues, they share love and they tell each other they're DOING GREAT because that's the truth right? because EVERYTHING IS OKAY AND THERE'S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT, right?
autumn, a season he had always enjoyed, would bead into his mouth and urge amaranth to disperse from his esophagus, and alas youth weakened and the beauty summer retained would fade into quick snaps from a memory-filled pink sony camera that would mark a timeline of polaroids and vhs taped videos. warm peach tongues now a fickle blackberry. molded tongues, slack jaws, stung limbs.
everything turned cold; even the water dancing in a milky shimmer in jimin's bathtub, the overly medicated pills sitting in hoseok's peripheral vision emptied into the sink, matching the dull ginger enigma overlapping a blackened soot color. namjoon's phone screen had cracked during his teaching lessons, albeit listening ears and wandering eyes, and. . .
not a care in the world, not knowing summer would fall under the seize of winter's platted stalks. even in august, snowfall coated the veins in their hearts.
