words without: green.

it is the overwhelming sweetness of a kiwi, the taste punching your tongue in sour, sugary jabs, soft background against the crunch of seeds. it's the smell of grass after it's been freshly cut, the sound of leaves waving in the spring breeze. it's the feeling of moss against your fingertips, the blooming feeling of sickness you have right before you throw up. it's the smell of the earth after rain, feeling of an unfamiliar stranger kissing their way across your chest. it is the sound of crickets, the way that snakes move, bridging the yawning gap between solid and liquid. it is the smell of old houses, the way my father moves in the morning, the sound of a newborn baby's cry. it is the lazy gurgle of a slough, and the crack of wood as a tree begins its slow journey towards death. it is life, and it is death, and it is everything in between.

words without: yellow.

it's the smack-smack of soda bubbles against your lips, the cheeky way that lemons make your lips pucker together in a bastardization of a kiss, the way that your fingers feel against my skin. it's the way my breath tastes in the morning, sulfurous and capable of slaughtering entire countries. it's the feeling of a dandelion tickling its way across your skin, the way that your eyelashes feel in the morning against my neck, like tiny stars that dance back and forth at my nape. it's the sour taste of morning-after alcohol in your mouth, the aftertaste coloring everything with a sort of unpleasant coat until something takes it away, like the minty touch of toothpaste. it's the way the sun feels against the sky, the way the sun feels against your skin, when it walks its careful fingers across your chest and holds you in a careful embrace. it's the feeling after you say something that gets everyone laughing, it's the sense you get when someone says they're proud of you, it's the way that it feels to be wanted.

words without: orange.

it's the way fire feels on your skin as it traces it lovingly with its fingers, the same way that the sun feels when it kisses your cheek when you've stretched out on the beach. it's the way that citrus splashes on your tongue, the taste of the air when autumn comes and the leaves dress in their finest and fall to the ground. it's the way satisfactory tastes, and the texture of the rinds of pumpkins. it's the pop of sunflower seeds in your mouth, the sharpness of cheddar, the glistening feel of the peel of a grapefruit.

words without: red.

it is the way that apples taste, the way that strawberries dance across your tongue. it's the feeling of the heat across your skin when you're embarrassed, or when it's gorgeous outside and the sun has done a little more than just kiss you. it is the smell of blood, and the feel of lips. it is the soft velvet of a rose petal, the words that leave your mouth when you tell that special someone that you love them. it's that feeling that whispers its way across your skin when he kisses you. it's the way that your hands fit with hers, the way that his fingers interlock with yours. it's the smell of chili and chili peppers, the start of the ignition in your mouth when you crunch through a habanero pepper. it's the curve of tomatoes, and the sound of your beating heart.

revisiting: words without words.

i actually can't remember the context for that last post that i made. i think it's coming back to me very faintly, but i can't really remember the circumstances which makes me a little sad.

anyway, i think i want to restart writing again. i want to write short pieces about words without using the word ever. there's something like this floating around on tumblr, which was my main inspiration. i think i'll start with colors for now...