Small tiny boxes

Each and everyday, subconsciously, I find myself thinking of you. Each time I find myself in those thoughts, I have to consciously take those thoughts and place them in a box. I make the effort to make that box infinitely smaller and place it in a small dark corner of my brain to be left alone and with any luck eventually forgotten forever. However, my subconscious seems much like a dog with a bone and it drags the small box back into the light of my memories and yet again I am thinking of you.
The memories are hard on me. Often times, they leave me with tears in my eyes and feeling as if the wind has been knocked out of me. They are very bittersweet. They are warm and comforting and yet leave me cold and lonely. They leave me feeling unable to be loved.
There was something once so comforting about you. You once made me feel so loved. You would do such sweet simple things, gestures, like open a door for me or hold my hand. More than all of that, the look in your eyes when our eyes met always made me feel like you saw me. Then one day, one day you woke up and you looked right through me. You soon told me, you didn't want me anymore. I guess the newness, the shiny, the novelty of me wore off and you grew bored and almost contemptuous. I guess my presence kept other interest from approaching you and therefore, you wished me gone from your life, mostly. Sure, you still enjoyed having me in the background. I was good for your ego. I made you feel wanted, for you were, and I did; I wanted you. Your indifference to me left me feeling hurt and forgettable. If a person is so forgettable, then were they ever really loved? No. Then you didn't love me, even when I told you to leave me alone if you couldn't offer me your heart. You once looked at me like you loved me, but I suppose lust looks similar and once again I mistook it for real feeling. The day you told me you didn't want me was the day my chest was left hollow feeling. I can still feel the sting of the tears in my eyes. The sun was shining much to bright and the weather was perfect; but I wasn't wanted, or needed, or loved. I was cast away like an empty coke bottle. Since then, I prefer the rainy, overcast, foggy days. I wake each morning still thinking of you. When I do, I put you in that box, and shrink it. I think about you consistently during the day, and each time, in the box you go and I try to make it as small as I can. You were once large than life. You once made me feel so perfect. You then ripped that rug of feeling wanted out from under me and left me feeling empty, cold, and undesirable. So while you are still so much to me, I still try to hard each day to make you mean a little less. I do so in hopes that one day you will no longer mean anything to me and will no longer have the power to make me feel unlovable.