the suit hasn’t been worn in a very long time. it sits in the wardrobe – the one in the guest bedroom-, gathering dust and attracting moths. it is never moved. it is never touched. guests don’t question its present -they know the story, generally. they know its history.
I like a man in a nice suit. Men in suits look sexy and classy. ON Sunday my husband and I went to see Lyle Lovett and his Big Band in California. His entire band dresses in suit. Talk about classy! I really enjoyed seeing them dressed in a suit. It make the entire experience class “full”.
I only wear a suit on special occasions. They are sometimes uncomfortable if it is hot outside. but, if you are indoors most of the time it isn’t too bad. I like to wear suites. They make me feel professional.
A few words of confession. Then the backspace followed.
So did her fears echo, in the labyrinth of the unknown.
Wearing charming suits of confidence, shredding paper into bits and pieces.
His suit was impeccable; after planning nearly his whole life for his coronation ball, every last detail had to be perfect. The bow tie wrapping around his neck was the final touch.
a suit is the mask that goes over your “face.” A good suit tells the world you are professional, and prepared. Your suit is your face to the world. Choose wisely.
She sways her hips, looking up through her lashes at one of the men at the bar. This late at night, the city is her playground—she’s free to do whatever she likes in those empty back alleyways with only the grimy stars above as her witness.
The man from the bar is approaching. She tries to tamper down her excitement, still moving along with the music, savoring the way it guides her feet like the deep, low thrumming is actually the city’s heartbeat.
“Care to get out of here?” He smiles; up close, his suit is much more rumpled than it had appeared from across the dance floor. But he’ll still have to do.
She fakes breathlessness, swinging her arms around his neck and giggling. “I thought you’d never ask.”
So she steps out into the cool night air and leads him down one of her alleyways, down one of the dimly lit arteries that make her city into such a monstrous living thing. They stop somewhere out of the reach of a streetlamp and immediately his lips are on hers, drunken and messy and nowhere near interesting enough to slow her fingers from reaching into her handbag.
(There was a time, she thinks vaguely, fingers closing around the cool metal in the depths of her handbag, when this was just about the money. But then she felt the rush of shooting a gun for the first time. And that’s when she realized that men would do almost anything for a pretty woman in a skin-tight red dress. That’s when everything went straight to hell.)
She smiles at the faded yellow moon above, hazy with smog and clouds. If the city knows what’s going to happen next, it holds its tongue.
But bear in mind, he wasn’t what you can call a clean-cut type. He doesn’t wear suits on a daily basis, his hair–from his scalp down to his chin–unkempt, his language; foul. But he kept sure his word would be acknowledged, his ideas be innovations, his abstract concepts become tangible mechanisms. He is Steve Jobs’ soul on George Harrison’s body, a craggy-chiseled David, clearly what you can call ‘a diamond in the rough’, and those would later be the qualities which had her fall for him, unconsciously.
It wasn’t new, it wasn’t nice, but it was his and he loved it. A 5 piece navy blue suit. He got it from the goodwill for 12 dollars. He even got shoes. Now all he had to do was get an interview.
I will build to suit-with your help, it says. That is what the Universe can do for you. But the question is what do think you can build for you. It’s there to help. Build the best…
Suit… Don’t think i’ve ever worn one. Not sure I ever will. I’m not into the whole powersuit thing. I am very much a casual dresser. Hopefully I will never work in a corporate hellhole.
Nothing suits me like a suit. A suit in a deck of cards. It is well suited. All of the ways you sliced it, the word suit was about belonging or being fitted in. But as he buttoned the jacket and looked at his reflection, it didn’t feel fitted or apt at all; it felt out of place.
Everyday I run as fast as I can, as hard as I can. I securely place one foot, then the next, pouring every atom of oxygen and nutrients into my muscles. All this to get back to the starting line the next day. The next week. The next year. Something about this doesn’t #suit me. I crave to be free from the constructs of society. Will I ever be? Will I be craving the same thing at the end of this decade? @oneworddotcom @oznolem
He tried to imagine he was back at home, wearing his worn and comfy blue jeans, Pink Floyd t-shirt, and flip-flops. But the fantasy of blending in disappeared as soon as he stepped out of the car. The impressed stares and whispers made it impossible to pretend he wasn’t wearing a designer suit, or that this evening wasn’t about honoring him.
I like suits. I like to wear black on many occasions. I always look smart in black. My mother insists me to go for some other options but I always prefer black. I think I look decent and charming in black. I have a blue suit as well but black is so my color. Black is my favourite . I think everyone look young in black . My tailor also tells me that I look good in black suit. I wore my black Suit on the wedding ceremony of my sisters.
She had short hair now. She flicked it a lot. She never did that before. When she put a jumper on, she automatically reached up to thread her long phantom ponytail out of her collar. She looked in the mirror. It suited her.
I have piwer. I can demand things from people. I don’t enjoy the power necesarily, bit it makes my life easier. I count numbers all day and turn them in for numbers in my bank account. This suit I’m wearing was bought with those numbers. It gives the appearance that I am important. I don’t feel very important inside, but as long as everyone knows I’m in charge, I can hide it. Besides, only poor people express their emotions.
It is ludicrous how you pervade my thoughts. I can bring every word, every sentiment back to you. In just two short months, an infinitesimal timeline, you seem to have eaten my soul. I am a giddy, ridiculous sixteen year old who hangs from your every word. There is no control. Just rising heat and palpable danger.
Suits and bellbottom pants
Snowmen, horseshoes
Stroke or mild setback
Comprehension
Things above
Darkness
Time stood still the day you and I
We
You remember
But I don’t.
The suit was amazing; hand tailored by the finest embroiders in the state. Made of pure Egyptian silk, the black shone so bright you’d think it were a light of its own.
But as Anna looked to the tall woman who wore such an outfit, her ice-blue eyes searching and blonde hair pinned back, she had only one thought:
How much she would enjoy ripping that suit off. After all, the skin that lay beneath was softer and finer than any silk that could be bought.
Suit yourself if it suits you! what a fun word to roll out of your mouth, suit. But I don’ wear them and don’t like a man in a suit, except his birthday suit. Yeah, that suits me.
Dressed up for the circus
daily life abounds and collides
taken from the rack
all my guises seem to fit
in a package made
for more than just me
anyone can fit
it’s the wrapping
not the content
where it counts
The suit was ready, and Carol was super stoked to pick it up. Only problem: When she went in, the shopkeeper wouldn’t sell it to her. He hadn’t been the same person she worked with last night, and he was convinced that the suit should be picked up by a man, not a blushing bride-to-be.
“How about this,” Carol warned the clueless guy, cracking the knuckles on her right hand. “Sell me the suit, or you’ll be seeing so many stars and rainbows that you’ll start questioning if you’re really gay.”
Two weeks ago the world was full of joy. There were golden promises of long afternoons locked body to body, and best of all, you looking me in the eye and meaning everything you said. One week ago, the day after we were caught, there was still hope. You told me it wasn’t over. But when I saw you the next morning, handsome in your suit, white as a sheet, I knew then that it was over. You had come face to face with losing her and your big, beautiful life and you were panicked. To be fair, you tried to be nice about it but I knew you wanted me to go. You and her, you are more of an institution than a couple. An institution with a secret. So I took the hole in my heart that is the shape of you back to Melbourne, and now it comes with me to the park to walk the dog and sob like a baby.
You suit me. Like air to humans and water to fisheys. You are my earth and sun and moon and stars and everything that means anything to me. I can’t wait for the day I walk down the aisle and see you standing there in a suit and tie waiting to become my husband for the rest of my life. And that thought makes me so happy and content and makes everything bad in my life okay. It makes me able to deal with everything terrible that’s ever happened to me. Because I love you.
I wanted to find the best suit. I wanted to look great for her, but I didn’t know where to start. We weren’t set on a color scheme for the wedding, but I know she loves purple. But have you ever realized how many damn shades of purple there are?
We all have suits that we think is us.
But more than this cloth we are wearing
Is someone who lives forever.
Strip away all things and this is what is left.
I watched him intently. Gawking at the way he moved in the sleek black suit. He caught my eyes.He smirked. He turned away his attention from his friends, and made his way toward me.
the man wore a dark black suit with a blood red tie. he looked at his watch. it was time to go. he rushed into the taxi that was about to leave. “wait!” he called to the taxi driver. he couldnt be late yet again. but he was. the taxi had left nand he stood, frightend in the rain.
suit. “where is my suit?” every morning, I wake up and hear the man from next door yell. he has a rather creamy voice, like milk chocolate. It’s the same thing, every morning, at exactly 6:45am. I wake to the man with the creamy milk chocolate voice, asking about his suit for the day. I wonder why he loses it so often. then, once the suit is secured and put on, I can hear him through the apartment wall, banging open cupboards, muttering to himself. he always forgets to take the pot off the stove. I imagine he must be quite a scatterbrained man.
I forgot the days when my Grandfather showed me the way a man ties a tie with his over worked mechanic hands. Ive long since built a chiseld physice that A curious Woman can spot down the block as I wear my favorite 3 piece.
3 piece. it looks well as he strolls down michigan avenue, carrying a briefcase and white roses. his muscels are about to rip right through that shiny suit. his tie has already be loosend. safe to assume he is off of the job and headed home to his lover
the suit hasn’t been worn in a very long time. it sits in the wardrobe – the one in the guest bedroom-, gathering dust and attracting moths. it is never moved. it is never touched. guests don’t question its present -they know the story, generally. they know its history.
I like a man in a nice suit. Men in suits look sexy and classy. ON Sunday my husband and I went to see Lyle Lovett and his Big Band in California. His entire band dresses in suit. Talk about classy! I really enjoyed seeing them dressed in a suit. It make the entire experience class “full”.
I only wear a suit on special occasions. They are sometimes uncomfortable if it is hot outside. but, if you are indoors most of the time it isn’t too bad. I like to wear suites. They make me feel professional.
A few words of confession. Then the backspace followed.
So did her fears echo, in the labyrinth of the unknown.
Wearing charming suits of confidence, shredding paper into bits and pieces.
That show I didn’t watch. A common misconception on yuppie scum. Hannibal Lecter’s plaid suits. I tried a suit once. Not a man.
His suit was impeccable; after planning nearly his whole life for his coronation ball, every last detail had to be perfect. The bow tie wrapping around his neck was the final touch.
a suit is the mask that goes over your “face.” A good suit tells the world you are professional, and prepared. Your suit is your face to the world. Choose wisely.
“Wow, you look spectacular in that suit, Mike!” Mike’s mom gushed and cooed at Mike wearing his suit.
Mike looked down, somewhat embarrassed. “You really think I look that nice, Mom?”
“Yes, of course! Have fun at prom with all your students and everything!”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Mike waved goodbye to his mom as the aide came to take her back to her bed in the nursing home. Then he drove his Cadillac to school.
She sways her hips, looking up through her lashes at one of the men at the bar. This late at night, the city is her playground—she’s free to do whatever she likes in those empty back alleyways with only the grimy stars above as her witness.
The man from the bar is approaching. She tries to tamper down her excitement, still moving along with the music, savoring the way it guides her feet like the deep, low thrumming is actually the city’s heartbeat.
“Care to get out of here?” He smiles; up close, his suit is much more rumpled than it had appeared from across the dance floor. But he’ll still have to do.
She fakes breathlessness, swinging her arms around his neck and giggling. “I thought you’d never ask.”
So she steps out into the cool night air and leads him down one of her alleyways, down one of the dimly lit arteries that make her city into such a monstrous living thing. They stop somewhere out of the reach of a streetlamp and immediately his lips are on hers, drunken and messy and nowhere near interesting enough to slow her fingers from reaching into her handbag.
(There was a time, she thinks vaguely, fingers closing around the cool metal in the depths of her handbag, when this was just about the money. But then she felt the rush of shooting a gun for the first time. And that’s when she realized that men would do almost anything for a pretty woman in a skin-tight red dress. That’s when everything went straight to hell.)
She smiles at the faded yellow moon above, hazy with smog and clouds. If the city knows what’s going to happen next, it holds its tongue.
But bear in mind, he wasn’t what you can call a clean-cut type. He doesn’t wear suits on a daily basis, his hair–from his scalp down to his chin–unkempt, his language; foul. But he kept sure his word would be acknowledged, his ideas be innovations, his abstract concepts become tangible mechanisms. He is Steve Jobs’ soul on George Harrison’s body, a craggy-chiseled David, clearly what you can call ‘a diamond in the rough’, and those would later be the qualities which had her fall for him, unconsciously.
It wasn’t new, it wasn’t nice, but it was his and he loved it. A 5 piece navy blue suit. He got it from the goodwill for 12 dollars. He even got shoes. Now all he had to do was get an interview.
I will build to suit-with your help, it says. That is what the Universe can do for you. But the question is what do think you can build for you. It’s there to help. Build the best…
Suit… Don’t think i’ve ever worn one. Not sure I ever will. I’m not into the whole powersuit thing. I am very much a casual dresser. Hopefully I will never work in a corporate hellhole.
Name of a piece of cloth that mostly men wear, to fit a situation.
A wool suit hanging in the closet, smelling faintly of moth balls, reminded me of someone from a distant past, with a life.
Nothing suits me like a suit. A suit in a deck of cards. It is well suited. All of the ways you sliced it, the word suit was about belonging or being fitted in. But as he buttoned the jacket and looked at his reflection, it didn’t feel fitted or apt at all; it felt out of place.
Everyday I run as fast as I can, as hard as I can. I securely place one foot, then the next, pouring every atom of oxygen and nutrients into my muscles. All this to get back to the starting line the next day. The next week. The next year. Something about this doesn’t #suit me. I crave to be free from the constructs of society. Will I ever be? Will I be craving the same thing at the end of this decade? @oneworddotcom @oznolem
He tried to imagine he was back at home, wearing his worn and comfy blue jeans, Pink Floyd t-shirt, and flip-flops. But the fantasy of blending in disappeared as soon as he stepped out of the car. The impressed stares and whispers made it impossible to pretend he wasn’t wearing a designer suit, or that this evening wasn’t about honoring him.
I like suits. I like to wear black on many occasions. I always look smart in black. My mother insists me to go for some other options but I always prefer black. I think I look decent and charming in black. I have a blue suit as well but black is so my color. Black is my favourite . I think everyone look young in black . My tailor also tells me that I look good in black suit. I wore my black Suit on the wedding ceremony of my sisters.
i like suits. i bought a black suit on the wedding on my sister.i like
She had short hair now. She flicked it a lot. She never did that before. When she put a jumper on, she automatically reached up to thread her long phantom ponytail out of her collar. She looked in the mirror. It suited her.
He had an enormous collection of black suits. Nobody knew exactly why he did, but rumors said he was Death, coming over to funerals uninvited.
I have piwer. I can demand things from people. I don’t enjoy the power necesarily, bit it makes my life easier. I count numbers all day and turn them in for numbers in my bank account. This suit I’m wearing was bought with those numbers. It gives the appearance that I am important. I don’t feel very important inside, but as long as everyone knows I’m in charge, I can hide it. Besides, only poor people express their emotions.
TIMELINE
It is ludicrous how you pervade my thoughts. I can bring every word, every sentiment back to you. In just two short months, an infinitesimal timeline, you seem to have eaten my soul. I am a giddy, ridiculous sixteen year old who hangs from your every word. There is no control. Just rising heat and palpable danger.
Suits and bellbottom pants
Snowmen, horseshoes
Stroke or mild setback
Comprehension
Things above
Darkness
Time stood still the day you and I
We
You remember
But I don’t.
The suit was amazing; hand tailored by the finest embroiders in the state. Made of pure Egyptian silk, the black shone so bright you’d think it were a light of its own.
But as Anna looked to the tall woman who wore such an outfit, her ice-blue eyes searching and blonde hair pinned back, she had only one thought:
How much she would enjoy ripping that suit off. After all, the skin that lay beneath was softer and finer than any silk that could be bought.
Suit yourself if it suits you! what a fun word to roll out of your mouth, suit. But I don’ wear them and don’t like a man in a suit, except his birthday suit. Yeah, that suits me.
Dressed up for the circus
daily life abounds and collides
taken from the rack
all my guises seem to fit
in a package made
for more than just me
anyone can fit
it’s the wrapping
not the content
where it counts
The suit was ready, and Carol was super stoked to pick it up. Only problem: When she went in, the shopkeeper wouldn’t sell it to her. He hadn’t been the same person she worked with last night, and he was convinced that the suit should be picked up by a man, not a blushing bride-to-be.
“How about this,” Carol warned the clueless guy, cracking the knuckles on her right hand. “Sell me the suit, or you’ll be seeing so many stars and rainbows that you’ll start questioning if you’re really gay.”
Two weeks ago the world was full of joy. There were golden promises of long afternoons locked body to body, and best of all, you looking me in the eye and meaning everything you said. One week ago, the day after we were caught, there was still hope. You told me it wasn’t over. But when I saw you the next morning, handsome in your suit, white as a sheet, I knew then that it was over. You had come face to face with losing her and your big, beautiful life and you were panicked. To be fair, you tried to be nice about it but I knew you wanted me to go. You and her, you are more of an institution than a couple. An institution with a secret. So I took the hole in my heart that is the shape of you back to Melbourne, and now it comes with me to the park to walk the dog and sob like a baby.
You suit me. Like air to humans and water to fisheys. You are my earth and sun and moon and stars and everything that means anything to me. I can’t wait for the day I walk down the aisle and see you standing there in a suit and tie waiting to become my husband for the rest of my life. And that thought makes me so happy and content and makes everything bad in my life okay. It makes me able to deal with everything terrible that’s ever happened to me. Because I love you.
The feel of silk was still a shock. I smoothed the suit, marveling at the feel and smiled wickedly. If only they could see me now.
I wanted to find the best suit. I wanted to look great for her, but I didn’t know where to start. We weren’t set on a color scheme for the wedding, but I know she loves purple. But have you ever realized how many damn shades of purple there are?
We all have suits that we think is us.
But more than this cloth we are wearing
Is someone who lives forever.
Strip away all things and this is what is left.
I watched him intently. Gawking at the way he moved in the sleek black suit. He caught my eyes.He smirked. He turned away his attention from his friends, and made his way toward me.
The suit on his back was ill fitting. It hung off him loosely and the pants were short by quite a few inches.
the man wore a dark black suit with a blood red tie. he looked at his watch. it was time to go. he rushed into the taxi that was about to leave. “wait!” he called to the taxi driver. he couldnt be late yet again. but he was. the taxi had left nand he stood, frightend in the rain.
suit. “where is my suit?” every morning, I wake up and hear the man from next door yell. he has a rather creamy voice, like milk chocolate. It’s the same thing, every morning, at exactly 6:45am. I wake to the man with the creamy milk chocolate voice, asking about his suit for the day. I wonder why he loses it so often. then, once the suit is secured and put on, I can hear him through the apartment wall, banging open cupboards, muttering to himself. he always forgets to take the pot off the stove. I imagine he must be quite a scatterbrained man.
I forgot the days when my Grandfather showed me the way a man ties a tie with his over worked mechanic hands. Ive long since built a chiseld physice that A curious Woman can spot down the block as I wear my favorite 3 piece.
3 piece. it looks well as he strolls down michigan avenue, carrying a briefcase and white roses. his muscels are about to rip right through that shiny suit. his tie has already be loosend. safe to assume he is off of the job and headed home to his lover