HE is in love with words.
Especially with the ones not often said.
A pause between two tones of merging voice, a tongue swiping at the bottom of their lip, a stare into the space between notion and answer; it fascinates him how in these exact moments when these exact gestures are elicited -- that word waiting upon their tongue is the one most needed to be said.
He just wonders why it isn't.
That for each human, the words that are stuck in their throats, the letters that refuse to mesh together in the crevices of their lungs and ribs and come out through their quivering mouths -- why is it that we don't say it?
Words left on skin, whether they be imprinted by pink lips and rosy cheeks, rough hands and tugging teeth, bloody fists and all sentences left underneath, he had an undeniable thirst for the formation of words when all he ever received was silence.
Jeon Jungkook is in love with words.
But he is in love with the words that are never said.
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HE is in love with colours.
Especially with the ones he cannot feel.
From the soft pink dusted beneath lashes, and the sky blue mapping its way upon delicate veins, to the red slithering beneath cuffs of ironed sleeves; it fascinates him how a human's body becomes a canvas of what they endure inside.
He just wonders why his' is so colourless.
And that for some, the red from roses does not appear on their cheeks unless it is out of shame, the blue from forget me nots does not appear upon their lips unless it is out of stolen oxygen and thinning blood, the purple of dwarf lilies does not disperse upon skin unless it is a scattering bruise -- yet what about the colours that we feel instead of see?
Perhaps it is of the grey smoke that clogs his throat and lungs, preventing any explosions of pigments from seeping through his mouth although he chews on flowers just to grow some on the inside, with not a care that he cannot breathe from the dirt.
Park Jimin is in love with colours.
But he is in love with the ones he cannot feel.
a/n;
im backkk.
