It happened again. And again before that, and when you think back, there’s a whole history of agains.
Each time, you say “I will never do that again”
Then you do; at least there is consistency.
Why, after so much practice (and so much regret) you still fail to recognise the point where you could have stopped?
Words fill your mouth. You forget just because you taste them, you don’t have to say them.
Gulp, bite your tongue, or even smile through gritted teeth.
But no, you go for the kill. Death by home-truths, AKA Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid.
There are myriad reasons for saying what you said. In the darkness of night, between sighing and craving sleep, you try, try, and then try some more to find justification. You justify until dawn, and by morning, you have almost reached absolution. Almost, but not quite.
Daylight reckoning doesn’t fare much better. Thoughts churn continually, until the real reason behind what you said – ‘What Happened Before What Happened Happened’- is laid clear and bare. And it and aint pretty.
The words, and the person who received them, are collateral damage. Unfair, unkind, but shamefully true. The words were all about you.