11″ x 15″ Marker on Watercolor Paper
Palms get sweaty in the grip of cold hands. She is so damn fine. His throat breathes hot fire and he wants to say something, but his words will feel as dry as his mouth does. Why did it have to be today? Please… don’t walk my way. Every step is a reminder of every wound of every time she stabbed his back. But she is so damn fine. Her voice in the dark was more powerful than her face in the light of day. Why did it have to be today? Please… don’t walk my way. Please. Reminders of love whispered at the back of his ear. Closed eyes take him to those moments like a time machine. Opened them… and she was gone. Was she ever there? Please… please come back my way.