He's still here.
In the house.
In his old room.
In his clothes.
In his trinkets.
In his pictures.
In his blankets.
In his chairs.
He's still here.
No matter how long his presence fades and he becomes a memory, he's still here.
He's long gone though.
He's been gone.
For more than a week.
Or two.
Or three.
I don't know.
I haven't kept track.
The last time I heard him was months ago.
When he let me borrow his Winnie the Pooh book.
That was the last one.
Before he was sent off.
He left a long time ago.
But....
He's gone now.
He's not coming back.
No matter how long I think he is, I am reminded that he isn't.
He's been gone.
But he's still here.
And I can't see him anymore.
All is left his his empty presence and faded sent and voice.
He's gone, but he is still here.
YOU ARE READING
Hands covered in paint.
RandomDip your hands into multicolored paint and write the words with your fingertips. (I don't know what I'm doing. I guess this poetry stuff. Leave good things! ~Windy)
