Courtesy of Rhys Wawia, Moral Afflictions, 2017
He looked like a fiction description of the main character’s love affliction. The boy she battled with head and heart everything or not at all. His voice was like a Sunday, lazy and drawn out but anxious about the Monday soon to be about. But why. He sits there, cigarette dangling from his mouth, his state of mind more occupied with a life of money and no time. For her at least. No time for her. His salty smirk could pick up the puddle of emotions she was, and it could also throw her right back down depending on the words that came from that sultry mouth. He was a sin. A perfect, beautiful sin and anything she said or did, could never repent the instances of the serpent’s silver tongue, calling her away and pulling her right back in. He was a storm on the hottest day in July. Welcomed for the cold rain, but the reality of humidity and thunderstruck wandering eyes.