floriography [ stories five ]

decode || shuffle writing again

[ slowly very slowly im writing sorry i'm unmotivated

rewriting 'moonlight' to make it better is very very slow, and i'm hoping i can eventually reactivate my x10hosting account from 2016 college classes to host the finished project.

anyway,, this is a combo of shuffle stuff/random draft stuff

i feel super bad for not updating, but i think i'm gonna have to write more personal stuff to have quicker updates rn. y'all cool with personal stuff??

-lew. ]

———

[ level of concern | twenty one pilots ]
[ bailey pov ]

My mother would throw a fit if she could see me now. There's a pandemic going on, and I'm outside in the city without a mask or gloves or anything like that.

It's freeing. Even though I'm just on the roof of the apartment building with Chase, the fresh air tears away levels of the concern that's been building for a couple weeks.

I pull Chase to her feet, spinning her around. A rare occurrence, she doesn't pull away, she just dances with me. Her hair's a mess, neither of us have worn actual clothes in over a week, but that's not what's important.

The important thing here is that we're together and we're not letting this get the best of us.

———

[ that bitch | bea miller ]
[ chase pov ]

'That bitch' is a phrase I hear directed at me pretty often.

And I am a bitch. I'm the bitch. I have to be. I have to act like that or else everyone will know how afraid I really am. And I can't let that get out.

People depend on me to be big and bad and bitchy, and I am on the outside. But deep inside, I'm still a scared kid, crying out for parents that never gave a fuck.

———

[ swing life away | rise against ]
[ uhh personal writing / freeform-slam poetry style ? ]

swing life away.
it feels like i've already done that.
others my age are starting families,
getting married, or even just in love.
and i've spent those years waiting around
for someone to hold my hand so i can cross that street.
i've waited around, swinging life away on the front porches of my neighbors and loved ones, just close enough to register what they've found and i haven't, but still far enough to try and detach myself.

———

[ fast in my car | paramore ]
[ personal,,, again. sorry ]

driving fast in my car
still wasn't enough to get us away.
we couldn't ever get away.
your cloud over our heads, darkening every second
into impenetrable blackness.
riot gear on, but we're trying to avoid the conflicts.
the only conflicts we meet are met with words
instead of fists. that's all it ever was, a war of our words against the fists that plagued your cloud.
all we wanted was to have fun, but the violence slammed the car to a stop.

———

[ in the water | anadel ]
[ personal scenery?? ]

shades of green everywhere. calm, fresh air. the sounds of the water flower freely over stones we stacked as children, so many short years ago.

time flows slower here. 'a couple summers ago' could mean anywhere between last year to two decades ago. sullen young adult with boredom clearly setting in, or a one year old having a birthday party and getting washed in the babbling creek.

memories saturate every square foot of land here. playing with dolls underneath drooping cypress trees, hiding from boys in the bathroom. fishing in the sweet spot, scavenging buckeyes at the edge of the untamed forest. shoving plastic bottles in bicycle frames one summer, then turning into the disgruntled adult a few years later when someone younger pulls that stunt again.

the sweet smell of grass in the summer, paired with the endless possibilities staring into the stars presented. fires growing tall, flames and sparks and smoke curling towards the heavens, carrying the memories of loved ones and friends long gone.

it used to be guitar and keyboard duets, willie nelson's 'seven spanish angels' and that old song 'there's a hole in the bottom of the sea'. now, rarely, it's ukulele and tambourine, playing elvis and twenty one pilots and songs the older crowd doesn't know.

it used to be playing cards and betting hypothetical ice cream cones— 'double or nothing!'. which, mostly turned out being nothing. now, it's rare, but it's just coins and bragging rights. it used to be long treks to hidden lakes. now it's hardly any trips at all.

it's hard to let go. two decades of memories for me, possibly double that for my father, possibly triple it for my grandfather. and all those sweet memories close a chapter, locking it- and the gate- behind us.

(context: the camp ground area my family's spent time in my entire life got closed down at the end of the season last year and ?? still bitter over it.)