WINTER WASH

WW1 WW7 WW3 WW4 WW2 WW5

WW6

 

Winter washes over me. Consumed by white; the trees move slowly by the weight of the ice. If you stop and listen, the sound of cracking from the branches. Breath rises, it fogs my glasses. The quiet streets, and tire tracks in the snow, a grey sky. All the things I love about being home.

 

xx

RLPB

Pants: ALEXANDER WANG

Biker: American Vintage LA

Boots: Diesel 

Sunglasses: Céline