She always looks like she is in a daze
like she’s lost something.
A person, maybe.
A love, if you will.

The smoke runs in front of my face while we sit in her car.
“What have you lost?” I ask.

“I’ve lost my will to live. I’ve lost my will to love. I’ve lost my hope in happiness.”

I want to tell her things will be okay. But how do I know?
I stay silent I cannot lie