“You are in some songs that still get played on the radio when the DJ is feeling nostalgic.
You are in a book you once lent me (never returned) with yellowed pages.
You are in trees when I touch them, even ones without names carved into them.
You are in the way someone on the street laughs as I pass them.
You are in a box I keep filled with letters.
You are in a ring I no longer wear.
And, every day, you each get a moment to haunt me.” ~I Wrote This For You