Just a memory.
Vicky and I fought and he said something nasty, intending to hurt. And I suppose once he got that out, he was prepared to calm down.
But he said it and I heard myself read out other words. Words of blame nobody deserves to hear, not even me. And I turned on my heel and walked away. Leaving him cut and bleeding and in pain. The blood will clot, but my memories retain their edge. They cut the ground out from under me when I least expect them.
This is what I think: when you hurt somebody who matters to you, and I take it as given that if you love somebody you are bound to hurt them as only you can, then you need to make it your business to take it back or kiss it right or do whatever the hell it takes to make them believe it was the anger, not you. Because if you never take the trouble to do this, then such memories only strengthen their roots. They aren't grudges but they seem more destructive than a mere grudge which after all can one day be tossed away.