Rememberance or a Thought

i hate the bitter taste of reminiscing.

there's an unmarked box.
with invisible words.
and wrappers.
and faded heartbeats.
it comes to life and gets to breathe
on late afternoon car drives.
where the sun is shining above.
stories never spoken.
and places that need not be woken.
table two at bookstore five.
and grass stains that stained the heart.
a backseat where it all began.
sometimes things just aren't right?
it's strange the way that colors change
to different hues.
and walks go from steady four to two.