And I find you, on the dented corners of my favorite books.
I see you at the bottom of my favorite candy bag.
I even find you in all my favorite songs I use to listen too.
You're there in every person who has your colored eyes.
In the simplest things is where I tend to find you.
I no longer want to keep finding you in my thoughts
or you as the monster under my bed.
I grew weary of seeing a ghost that was once you.
I keep finding you in places I don't want to see you anymore.
But most of all I hate finding you still in pages written in ink.