i sat on your doorstep and kept my mouth shut until my words ran in so many circles inside my head that they tired themselves out—at least momentarily. i tried to distract myself by counting the brick steps carrying my weight. but my stubborn words always win, suggesting that maybe thoughts never leave the body until physically released. the ghost of my overflowing thought pattern beams over my shoulder; i am a slave to my own predicament. my words, stagnating in a chaotic fashion, assemble and reassemble on top of one another until a string of three words merely slip out of my modest lips: i love you.
NICOLE METALLIC BEIGE BAG by Paul’s Boutique
STRAPPY TOP by H&M
Photos by Sam Doyle