seoul kim, 16
junior
seoul, korea
icon: alaska young
likes: smoking, cold nights, vanity, mint tea, garters, sequins, rings, hip bones, insane heels
dislikes: people, the monsters in her head, love games
born in korea, raised in manhattan, but after getting kicked out of prestigious schools, seoul ironically got sent back to seoul. she smoked, fucked, and lived in the wild streets of hongdae, kangnam, and seoul. her dad, busy with his many wives, sent her back to ny where she can at least finish high school.{ a gorgeous, young, careless, wild, shattered girl with impeccable mood swings. } seoul lives by drinking tea, smoking cigars, and trying to figure out the meaning of life. she's an peice of puzzle herself, a very difficult enigma. she sees the world with her twisted black lenses of lost hope and hatred. what made her this way? that's for you to find out. seoul spends her days endlessly drawing, sketching, reading and her nights smoking and drinking. she keeps a circle of friends but not too far, not too close. she likes to be free, like the birds in the sky. seoul's odd sense of humor might surprise you; she has a very immature and sarcastic side to her. even though she's in broken pieces, there are people always reaching out to mend her together. the only problem is, when will she ever taking a lending hand?
a cold soul wild child with a dose of badass {clubber, smoker, party-goer}
daul kim
@kittenwalks
i lit up a cigar and breathed it in and exhaled all the crisp clean air of the lush trees. i already missed the bright lights, loud music, and rough kids. i left new york for a reason; uptight prissy b-itches were something i did not want to deal with. i hated tailored skirts, proper dresses, and ribbon-ed flats. to be honest, i hated a lot of things. but today, i wasn't as sour or cranky. maybe it was the cigar i could only get in the states, or maybe it was the pretty red bricks. the cold air chilled me to my bones; it gave me an ecstatic shiver.
i stood. i smoked. i stood. i smoked. cigar after cigar.
"slow down there," the boy said.
i looked at him. i continued to do what i was doing before his abrupt interruption.
"you're going to die of lung cancer. and also, aren't you a little cold?" he eyed me curiously, like i was a foreign specie.
"no."
garter, blazer, bandeau, skirt. why would i be cold? i was practically immune to it; in fact i savored the chills and the shivers.
he just stood and stared. he was probably wondering what kind of person i was. what kind of delusional, crazy girl would chain smoke in the freezing cold with no pants? he stared at me, wide eyes. he had the eyes of a sweet, sweet caramel apple in the summer carnivals. his hair was a pretty, pretty blonde. he was a sweet-looking boy. and he was worried about me. how cute was that. d'aww.
"listen up pretty boy. i may be new here, but you don't have to worry about me. and yes, i speak perfect english. even française," i smiled.
he just stared.
i fished my tiny notepad out of my purse and started to recite him one of my writings.
"fI love you, I love you, I love you.
Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave.
Because if you do then
the aorta and ventricles and veins and arteries
will freeze
and shatter
the remnants
of my
bitter
sweet
fragile
heart."
and the boy, just stared. and i, continued to smoke.
