20s Aesthetic Novels & Stories

The only difference was that they had almost opposite aesthetics. Aubrey was the pretty, cute lady you had no idea could claw your eyes out. She represented yellow, pink and all things girly, and always had a smile on. Hazel, on the other hand, had a dark aesthetic. Wore dark colours, especially red. Always had red lipstick on. Seductive but sweet, to only the people she cared about. She was also girly, but the other kind. And she would absolutely claw your eyes out. But that was the only difference in them. Their aesthetic. They loved the same things.

He seemed young at least in his late or mid-twenties. When he had approached me, a week ago, he had been in a hurry so I hadn't been able to study his face up close like now. "How old are you? I don't want your parents opening a statutory rape case against me and fucking with my business", he said coolly. His demeanor had changed now, he seemed more business-like.

I lean in сlоѕе tо рut іn mу оrdеr, аnd саtсh аn аllurіng scent of аftеrѕhаvе as hе ѕmіlеѕ bасk at me. Hе muѕt be just twеntу-оnе, аll bоуіѕh good lооkѕ аnd сlеаn whіtе tееth. It’ѕ nоt lіkе I’m оvеr thе hill оr anything just twеntу-thrее уеаrѕ оld but this рuрру seems a lіttlе уоung, despite his ѕеxу еxtеrіоr.

--- I feel it in my bones. The shift. The turning. The way the light changes from gold to amber to something softer. The way the mornings get cooler. The way the roses start to look tired, like they have been blooming for so long they forgot how to stop. I am twenty years old. Twenty is not old. Twenty is young. Twenty is supposed to be about possibilities and futures and the kind of decisions that feel huge in the moment and meaningless in hindsight. But twenty is also the age when you realize that time does not wait.

No matter how you look at it, he’s her type. Neatness in clothing, conservatism in hairstyle and straight posture have long lost their popularity among young people. They were replaced by artificial sloppiness and careless carelessness in movements. Perhaps she was a typical product of her time, wrapped in oversized sweaters and cardigans, combining incongruous things: floral chiffon dresses with rough ankle boots that made her mother's eyelid twitch nervously - but she had already formed her own sense of beauty.

Please listen to it. And please trust me when I say that who you feel you are will change more dramatically from year to year when you reach your twenties than you can imagine. You will look back and feel foolish for doing certain things. It's nothing to be embarrassed of, it's just how it goes. There's a reason why you're not an adult legally until you're 18 or 21. Only recently neuroscientists and psychologists established that the human brain is not fully developed until we're in our mid twenties. Time passes faster if you don't try to grow up too fast.

I lean in сlоѕе tо рut іn mу оrdеr, аnd саtсh аn аllurіng scent of аftеrѕhаvе as hе ѕmіlеѕ bасk at me. Hе muѕt be just twеntу-оnе, аll bоуіѕh good lооkѕ аnd сlеаn whіtе tееth. It’ѕ nоt lіkе I’m оvеr thе hill оr anything just twеntу-thrее уеаrѕ оld but this рuрру seems a lіttlе уоung, despite his ѕеxу еxtеrіоr.

Fuck. Cars. And fuck more. It was supposed to be the motto of my life. A cheesy slogan people go by nowadays. What do they call it? Yes. Aesthetic. My aesthetic was supposed to be a carefree playboy—fucking everything walking. Fuck. I was well aware and needlessly proud of my looks. I’d fuck myself too if I could.

Twenty years since two people had sat across a table and tried to make the largest thing either of them would ever do manageable by reducing it to terms. "Twenty years," I said. "I want to do something." He held his coffee cup. Looking at the rose bed. "Not a party. Not a public occasion." A pause. "Something true." "What kind of something true?" He turned to look at me. The evening light on his face. Sixty-two in October. The years visible in the way they were on people who had lived them fully rather than managed them carefully. Lines around his eyes. The gray that had been coming since his forties and had arrived entirely by his mid-fifties. The same essential face that had sat across a c

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life, buried in my system. But I don't know what I want to become." I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "I think it's too late for me." He laughed at my plight before carefully removing my hands from my face. "It's never too late, Bee. You can't know what you want to become overnight." "But, I will be twenty-five soon. Twenty-five and jobless. Twenty-five and dreamless. Twenty-five and passionless. I don't know if there is a word like that. But Twenty-five and oblivious don't sound so good."