Your shirt smells like smoke mixed with cologne. You’ve been out all night. Your hair is messy and cool. I play with it as you lie in my lap. I run my fingers through each strand combing the gel out with my fingers; you tell me it feels good and beg me not to stop. You don’t make eye contact anymore. I think about this as you talk. It’s been so long since I’ve seen your eyes. You’ve turned away from me and I see them in the rear view mirror and realize how sad, lonely, and filled with lies they are.