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.