Present, you are, you exist somewhere, at some point.
I see you, your clothes are who told me about you, your body, your
joys and pleasures, your hobbies and whims. Your garments that as
second skin show me a part of you that you just do not let me watch
... the nakedness of the soul, the size of your spirit.
Absent, your body suspicious and cowardly abandoned the suit for
seconds, minutes, leaving him to be who declare what is inside, and
it does ... although only a tiny fraction evidences.
Sometimes you come back, others absorbed in yourself you flee,
although you're still here.