Even though he's gone, he's not.
He's everything.
He is the city lights talking in morse code,
flickering on and off at different intervals.
He is the song playing on the radio that you love
so much, but it will always hurt to hear.
He is the tap-tap-tapping of your pen when you're bored in
class and your pen knocks on the table like a palpitating heartbeat.
He is the slight breeze when you're stuck in a summer haze,
and the chilly bite of cold raindrops on your face.
He will never be gone, in any sense of the word.
But he is gone, now.