You are still here, but you're not.
You are a memory, added to the collection of memories I already have inside.
But the memory of you feels different, the memory of you feels like home.
It makes me feel some type of way, maybe it's just my foolish and broken heart.
But the you I hold so close to my heart, that you is home and this you, the you that is not a memory,
that you wouldn't hold me in a warm embrace when I cry over your memory in my mind.