Digital Painting - 2017
he asked me to show him what it feels like on the days when i can't tell him what's on my mind, on the days where every selfish thought about my feelings for him spills out from under my breastbone in a dull burning ache. i always tell him that it's nothing, because i'm never sure if it's worse for it to hurt, or for it to spread out and fill my whole body with a slow warmth.
he asked me at night, when i was sitting alone in bed with one hand pressed where it hurts and the other wrapped around my phone, to paint for him what goes on in my medication rattled brain when i look at him and lose all my words.
i wish i could tell him. i wish i could find my voice and sing it out to him like a nightingale.
instead, i have this. i have warmth, and an ache, and hands pressed into my breastbone.
i love him.
(commission)
he asked me at night, when i was sitting alone in bed with one hand pressed where it hurts and the other wrapped around my phone, to paint for him what goes on in my medication rattled brain when i look at him and lose all my words.
i wish i could tell him. i wish i could find my voice and sing it out to him like a nightingale.
instead, i have this. i have warmth, and an ache, and hands pressed into my breastbone.
i love him.
(commission)