Paper Reminder

Cleaning out a box of books,

a forgotten place, small nooks.

And there it was, tucked in a spine,

a ticket stub, no longer mine.

Faded ink, a band we barely knew,

we went because there wasn't much to do

that night, just us, and rain outside.

A strange, dull place where feelings died.

The date was blurred, the venue gone,

just stiffened paper, holding on.

Why keep such a flimsy, pointless scrap?

A broken compass, caught in a trap

of memory, not even good or sweet.

Just proof of time, and two tired feet.