You are gone, not physically here anymore. 

I know this; people do not have to remind me anymore.

I know you left me, I know it happened.

But everyone tells me you are here in my heart.

Yes you are there, but you are in everything around me. 

You are the rain that pours from the sky for the passed two weeks. 

You always told me

"Rain is for the heart aching, and the dreamers.

So let the rain wash away your pain, and be a dreamer always pray to see that rainbow."

But you are not just in that rain, you are in every cigarette I smoke. 

I am remember you saying; 

"The worst thing in life you can do is, smoke. It makes you look old" 

I guess I still smoke to hear your voice. 

You are there, every good damn morning. 

I hear it, you yelling 

"Get your ass out of bed, you need to live. Laying in bed will not make you happy, but sadder 

I swear if it was not for that I do not know if I would be getting up anymore. 

Maybe my heart is still sore, 

May I implore. 

You are still, dead but not gone. 

Your spirit lives in the rain, the cigarettes and the morning sun. 

You will keep me here I guess. Here. 

Not alive anymore, 

but still not dead.