after nine

why do you remind me of that little box? the one stored away, forgotten until now. i don't want to remember the old theatre seats in the room that you said was too full. i thought it was too empty. i don't want to remember the streets with the broken lamp or the dripping water or the way we'd watch our breath blend in with the grey clouds. they way you never listened but pretended you were. the way you'd get angry that i couldn't remember our first conversation. i still can't. the quick glances when no one was watching, the smirks shared over a secret that only we knew, subtle brushes, quiet hello's, the same song replayed. i'm tired of repetition. i guess winter will always remind me of you.