Un-mother

It can come out of nowhere. You might be sitting alone as night is
falling around you and it will rush into your head like a freight train
that has no manners. Sometimes it is a creeping thing that slowly
insinuates itself into your conscious thoughts.
The memories of hurtful words, biting and cutting at your confidence and resolve.
The things that people say to each other, out of anger, jealousy, self-hatred that is misdirected.
I
don't know why, out of all the things that someone might say to me,
that I would remember such things. These words, though, they scarred
me. They touched me more than any of the beautiful poems, the loving
embraces and longing gazes sent my direction. I can't even remember the
goodness -and I'm sure there must have been- because of one very short,
but very cutting remark.
I look at this comment from different
angles, trying to grasp a different feeling from it, but it still hurts
just like the first time you said it.Every time my memory replays it, it becomes more sinister.
Why does anyone carry such sadness with them? Why do I think I've let it go, only to find it lingering?
Surely
I've said things like this, to people I've loved. Something that they
carry through all their experiences, such a horrible way to remember
pieces of me that I've shared with them. Knowing this, that I too have
also caused this kind of pain, doesn't make me feel better, nor do I find it justifiable. But it makes it somehow more bearable in the sense that I can let go of my hatred of ones who have hurt me. For I also, have been a murderer of love.