The atmosphere of the evening was formal. Men in suits and ties held the hands of women in dresses of complimentary color. I sat at a table in the corner, picking at the flower petals strewn across the pleated table cloth and sighed for the third time that minute.
At first, you might think of tuxedos and the like, but it could just be, that which has a form. That which is not void or chaos. In which case, “formal” describes just about anything, tuxedos or not.
I looked around the dance. It was extremely formal as promised, an almost perfect mimic of a legitimate masquerade. I looked down at my own dress. It was almost too much to walk in. I couldn’t recognise anyone. Everyone had taken great care to hide their identities–hopefully I wasn’t an awful exception.
Victor tossed his formal top hat aside and danced along the runway. The women cheered and waved dollar bills in the air as he waved his junk in their direction. “This,” he thought, “is an awesome way to promote recycling.”
She looked formal as she walked up to me. Her eyes were not warm, her lips stretched into a thin line. From her stance you can tell she was a true warrior, and it is no wonder why I had picked her to lead my men into battle.
“Your majesty,” she said, bowing.
“Rise.” i said, raising my hand at her. she straightened herself up. “what news do you bring?”
“The Duke of the Other Side is rumored to be passing through Ivalice in a few days.”
I thought for a moment. “I see. tighten the security, especially at the main gates.”
“Yes sir.” she said bowing once more. “I will see to it at once.” she turned and walked away.
“Take care of yourself.” I choked.
She looked over her shoulder, and smiled. “I will, father.”
The dress she was wearing showed off her perfect figure in a way I couldn’t even begin to process in my mind. The bright red satin hung about her body in a way that I only wished I could; I wished I could be that red, flowing river down her body just so I could touch her again.
They were stiff, stilted, and formal. Their relationship lacked the fiery passion that outshone all others that they were previously famous for. They regretted their marriage. It would end soon.
I met her at a dinner party. She was wearing a black dress, strapless. I held my breath when our eyes met. It was unbelievable, the way the brown was flecked with green. It was love.
I’m not sure I understand why we created all these formal ways of doing and saying and being, putting layers between our thoughts and ourselves. Sometimes being too close is too unveiling.
I would have never thought I’d be attending the formal with him. He was…too perfect. Too good looking, too sweet, too everything I’m not. He held me like I was them most delicate thing he’d ever had the pleasure of laying his hands on. I knew I was nothing special; I wasn’t hideous, but nothing to write home about.
He walks her down the stairs, to the grand ballroom. Opens the door, she glides in with him. All gaze at her like she is a shining star. The chandelier could not out-do her shine.
I think of a dress, going to homecoming. Dancing with my boyfriend at an extravegent event. Highschool Weddings… candles cocktails, men and women dancing high heels pearls. Tuxedos.
For Obi-Wan Kenobi, formal wear wasn’t meant for negotiations alone. It was every day attire. He wore from morning to night, his tabard too, even in his off hours.
He walked up to the casket to pay his formal respects
He showed no sign of emotion but you could tell beneath it all
He could shatter like glass at any moment
He looked at his friend laying there, thinking back to times they spent together
He was so young, why did he leave so many, so soon?
He looked nothing like himself though.
He was caked in makeup and wearing a suit which looked odd on him.
He wouldn’t talk much about it at all after that night.
We used to do things that were so private and intimate. Now when we see each other we are so formal, it makes me think of what we used to be and I must keep myself from blushing.
the formal use of words. its a bit harsh and not the way i speak. harsh dont you think, must take away the beauty of things i seek. away from my ways of speech. the beauty of words. gathered. informal.
He looked ridiculous, dressed formally. His jeans and loose fitting t-shirts molded to his sculpted body, but his khakis were too baggy, and looked to new. The tie was a noose for him, and it was obvious that he did not fit in with her friends. But when you saw him glance into her eyes, it became apparent that he would do anything just to see her smile.
This is a type of dressing style that I hate having to do. Not only are the clothes really uncomfortable and itching, but I usually do not look good in them. But at least everyone else is as equally itchy as I am.
She stood there in her formal dress. She wasn’t going to the party like all her classmates were, but she wore the dress anyway. It was her way of telling herself that she could have fun, even if she wasn’t invited.
“Why so formal with me, Frankie?” he asked slyly. I knew I shouldn’t try to press my luck with this guy, but my big mouth always seems to get in my way.
“Formal?” I asked. “You want me to get more casual? You think I give a damn about the niceties after the things you’ve done you dirty pig!” I swallowed hard. I knew I’d have to pay for that comment, but it still felt good to say it out loud.
The formal wear store was filled with pretty blonds. The girl edged in by herself, the 80 dollars her mother angrily threw at her from across the room clutched in her nervous hands.
On their way to the semi-formal, they rode in silence. the music blared from the speakers.
“We live on front porches and swing life away,
We get by just fine here on minimum wage
If love is a labor I’ll slave till the end,
I won’t cross these streets until you hold my hand….until you hold my hand”
He was in love, she knew she would break his heart.
The atmosphere reeked of formality.
I yearned to grab his hand, to close the gap, but expectations forbid it.
Only a few more hours, then I can go back to my jeans and sneakers.
I can survive this:
Shoulders back,
Mouth closed,
Pretty and open
Nod and smile.
Repeat.
They said that the dress was formal, yet there you stand in your torn jeans. I can’t help but laugh in delight as the older generation frowns down at your freedom. Could I be so free one day? Do I dare? I turn again towards the focus of the croud. Once again just another face as I blend in. However, in that moment, a seed was planted and things would never be the same.
It was the night of the formal and everything was falling apart.
It had been a year since she died. Not that it wasn’t any less fresh than the day that it happened. But I would’ve thought that you would be more over it by now.
Evening gowns and delusional masks swirled in myriad of gold and silver lights. The strange smiles emanating from the masks provided a strange, eerie, feeling in the formal setting.
It was formal apology. He took the sword, and after a deep breath, rammed it deeply into his stomach. Crimson blood flowed forth freely as his soul began to withdraw. Honor restored, his body slumped peacefully to the earthen floor never to stir again.
how we remained friends was probably mostly my doing.i was willing to take allot of abuse from the ‘force’ of personality.and,when i got my writing gig at the local underground magazine,’blackhorse’,eventhough she had no formal training,i got her hired in as my photographer
what a strange word to gve me. Formal? what am i to do with formal? i suppose i could rant on but that seems rather pointless and, ironically, informal.
The formality is part of who he is, and she would have it no other way.
“Good morning, my radiant princess,” he murmurs, bowing from the waist, uncharacteristically unbound black-silk hair spilling over his shoulders and across his face. “May I escort you downstairs?”
“I would be honored,” she replies, and smiles as he takes her hand.
We had no formal arrangement to meet. I went to the diner every Thursday. He must have seen me and asked about me. He started coming in every Thursday as well.
At first he sat a few stools down and made offhand remarks. In a few weeks, he sat next to me and chatted. We moved to a table and had deep conversations. Before long, we met at his place and didn’t talk at all….
The wedding itself was lively, girls in formal lace dresses, men in suitcoats and ties. If only LOVE had been present, the day would have been spectacular.
They expect us to be perfect, to appear as if we’ve never seen the hardships of the world. Walk in with a suit and tie and no matter who you really are, you’re conformed, professional, and suave. Remember, in this world they don’t care who you are, only that you can do what they need.
Why did he always have to be so formal its not a crime to let go once in a while. he could laugh or do something other than start off into empty space while I stood beside him feeling like I could do nothing.
The atmosphere of the evening was formal. Men in suits and ties held the hands of women in dresses of complimentary color. I sat at a table in the corner, picking at the flower petals strewn across the pleated table cloth and sighed for the third time that minute.
At first, you might think of tuxedos and the like, but it could just be, that which has a form. That which is not void or chaos. In which case, “formal” describes just about anything, tuxedos or not.
I looked around the dance. It was extremely formal as promised, an almost perfect mimic of a legitimate masquerade. I looked down at my own dress. It was almost too much to walk in. I couldn’t recognise anyone. Everyone had taken great care to hide their identities–hopefully I wasn’t an awful exception.
Victor tossed his formal top hat aside and danced along the runway. The women cheered and waved dollar bills in the air as he waved his junk in their direction. “This,” he thought, “is an awesome way to promote recycling.”
She looked formal as she walked up to me. Her eyes were not warm, her lips stretched into a thin line. From her stance you can tell she was a true warrior, and it is no wonder why I had picked her to lead my men into battle.
“Your majesty,” she said, bowing.
“Rise.” i said, raising my hand at her. she straightened herself up. “what news do you bring?”
“The Duke of the Other Side is rumored to be passing through Ivalice in a few days.”
I thought for a moment. “I see. tighten the security, especially at the main gates.”
“Yes sir.” she said bowing once more. “I will see to it at once.” she turned and walked away.
“Take care of yourself.” I choked.
She looked over her shoulder, and smiled. “I will, father.”
The dress she was wearing showed off her perfect figure in a way I couldn’t even begin to process in my mind. The bright red satin hung about her body in a way that I only wished I could; I wished I could be that red, flowing river down her body just so I could touch her again.
The stain wouldn’t come out. No matter how much he scrubbed, his white shirt would forever be stained a deep maroon. The dance was a success.
They were stiff, stilted, and formal. Their relationship lacked the fiery passion that outshone all others that they were previously famous for. They regretted their marriage. It would end soon.
I met her at a dinner party. She was wearing a black dress, strapless. I held my breath when our eyes met. It was unbelievable, the way the brown was flecked with green. It was love.
I’m not sure I understand why we created all these formal ways of doing and saying and being, putting layers between our thoughts and ourselves. Sometimes being too close is too unveiling.
I would have never thought I’d be attending the formal with him. He was…too perfect. Too good looking, too sweet, too everything I’m not. He held me like I was them most delicate thing he’d ever had the pleasure of laying his hands on. I knew I was nothing special; I wasn’t hideous, but nothing to write home about.
He walks her down the stairs, to the grand ballroom. Opens the door, she glides in with him. All gaze at her like she is a shining star. The chandelier could not out-do her shine.
I think of a dress, going to homecoming. Dancing with my boyfriend at an extravegent event. Highschool Weddings… candles cocktails, men and women dancing high heels pearls. Tuxedos.
For Obi-Wan Kenobi, formal wear wasn’t meant for negotiations alone. It was every day attire. He wore from morning to night, his tabard too, even in his off hours.
He walked up to the casket to pay his formal respects
He showed no sign of emotion but you could tell beneath it all
He could shatter like glass at any moment
He looked at his friend laying there, thinking back to times they spent together
He was so young, why did he leave so many, so soon?
He looked nothing like himself though.
He was caked in makeup and wearing a suit which looked odd on him.
He wouldn’t talk much about it at all after that night.
We used to do things that were so private and intimate. Now when we see each other we are so formal, it makes me think of what we used to be and I must keep myself from blushing.
The word formal kind of makes me think of socially constructed ideals. What’s formal even mean?
the formal use of words. its a bit harsh and not the way i speak. harsh dont you think, must take away the beauty of things i seek. away from my ways of speech. the beauty of words. gathered. informal.
He looked ridiculous, dressed formally. His jeans and loose fitting t-shirts molded to his sculpted body, but his khakis were too baggy, and looked to new. The tie was a noose for him, and it was obvious that he did not fit in with her friends. But when you saw him glance into her eyes, it became apparent that he would do anything just to see her smile.
This is a type of dressing style that I hate having to do. Not only are the clothes really uncomfortable and itching, but I usually do not look good in them. But at least everyone else is as equally itchy as I am.
She stood there in her formal dress. She wasn’t going to the party like all her classmates were, but she wore the dress anyway. It was her way of telling herself that she could have fun, even if she wasn’t invited.
A sad man in a rumpled black suit. Bleary pupils eying the street in front of him, a bouquet clutched in his hand.
“Ah, Mr. Jones…” I said.
“Why so formal with me, Frankie?” he asked slyly. I knew I shouldn’t try to press my luck with this guy, but my big mouth always seems to get in my way.
“Formal?” I asked. “You want me to get more casual? You think I give a damn about the niceties after the things you’ve done you dirty pig!” I swallowed hard. I knew I’d have to pay for that comment, but it still felt good to say it out loud.
The formal wear store was filled with pretty blonds. The girl edged in by herself, the 80 dollars her mother angrily threw at her from across the room clutched in her nervous hands.
i would talk about formal dresses and balls and like wearing a formal gown to a formal ball on a formal cruise ship
On their way to the semi-formal, they rode in silence. the music blared from the speakers.
“We live on front porches and swing life away,
We get by just fine here on minimum wage
If love is a labor I’ll slave till the end,
I won’t cross these streets until you hold my hand….until you hold my hand”
He was in love, she knew she would break his heart.
The atmosphere reeked of formality.
I yearned to grab his hand, to close the gap, but expectations forbid it.
Only a few more hours, then I can go back to my jeans and sneakers.
I can survive this:
Shoulders back,
Mouth closed,
Pretty and open
Nod and smile.
Repeat.
They said that the dress was formal, yet there you stand in your torn jeans. I can’t help but laugh in delight as the older generation frowns down at your freedom. Could I be so free one day? Do I dare? I turn again towards the focus of the croud. Once again just another face as I blend in. However, in that moment, a seed was planted and things would never be the same.
It was the night of the formal and everything was falling apart.
It had been a year since she died. Not that it wasn’t any less fresh than the day that it happened. But I would’ve thought that you would be more over it by now.
Evening gowns and delusional masks swirled in myriad of gold and silver lights. The strange smiles emanating from the masks provided a strange, eerie, feeling in the formal setting.
I think formal occasions are lovely. You get dressed up and feel your best. Such special memories…
It was formal apology. He took the sword, and after a deep breath, rammed it deeply into his stomach. Crimson blood flowed forth freely as his soul began to withdraw. Honor restored, his body slumped peacefully to the earthen floor never to stir again.
how we remained friends was probably mostly my doing.i was willing to take allot of abuse from the ‘force’ of personality.and,when i got my writing gig at the local underground magazine,’blackhorse’,eventhough she had no formal training,i got her hired in as my photographer
what a strange word to gve me. Formal? what am i to do with formal? i suppose i could rant on but that seems rather pointless and, ironically, informal.
Formal attire is so conforming, So annoying. So confining
No freedom to choose. No way to escape.
The formality is part of who he is, and she would have it no other way.
“Good morning, my radiant princess,” he murmurs, bowing from the waist, uncharacteristically unbound black-silk hair spilling over his shoulders and across his face. “May I escort you downstairs?”
“I would be honored,” she replies, and smiles as he takes her hand.
We had no formal arrangement to meet. I went to the diner every Thursday. He must have seen me and asked about me. He started coming in every Thursday as well.
At first he sat a few stools down and made offhand remarks. In a few weeks, he sat next to me and chatted. We moved to a table and had deep conversations. Before long, we met at his place and didn’t talk at all….
The wedding itself was lively, girls in formal lace dresses, men in suitcoats and ties. If only LOVE had been present, the day would have been spectacular.
They expect us to be perfect, to appear as if we’ve never seen the hardships of the world. Walk in with a suit and tie and no matter who you really are, you’re conformed, professional, and suave. Remember, in this world they don’t care who you are, only that you can do what they need.
Why did he always have to be so formal its not a crime to let go once in a while. he could laugh or do something other than start off into empty space while I stood beside him feeling like I could do nothing.