Memory


I can't remember the first step I took.
I can't remember the first word I spoke.
I can't remember the first time I looked at my mother
and told her I loved her.

But I can remember the first time I swore.
I can remember the first time I looked my mother
in the eye and told her I hated her.
I can remember the first time I told someone they were
worthless.

Some say words hurt most.
Others say sticks.
But the worst kind of hurt is the one
swirling through your head as it rests on your pillow.
The one that no one can see, yet it gnaws at you
with a pain that no word or stick could ever wish
to inflict.

A good memory is warm, heating you up on a cold night.
But a bad memory is the cold, creeping up as the warmth
fades away into darkness.
And though we try to replace the old with the new,
those memories always come back, tickling our toes with
freezing regrets from the past because
We will always remember.

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